


An Unholy Alliance

by Fiaba



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaba/pseuds/Fiaba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wounded Morgana, the exiled enemy of Camelot, arrives in the dead of night at the citadel, and what she has to say puts Arthur in the most difficult of positions. What he decides could change everything for them, but only if they let it. Arthur/Morgana. </p>
<p>A re-write of Merlin starting somewhere after Morgana's turn to the dark side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bell Tolls

_Arthur has reigned for two years. Uther died in an accident without Morgana’s involvement. Arthur is unmarried, and Merlin is his closest confidante à la S5._

_Morgana has been gone from Camelot for four years, fighting sporadically with Arthur. She has not taken the throne at any point and was imprisoned briefly in exile by another king. She is not as deranged as the show would have us believe, but she is anti-Pendragon. She is not Arthur’s sister; her parentage is that of pre-S3._

_Gwen is still a servant, and closer to Merlin than Arthur._

_Lancelot is alive. The core circle of knights is made up of him, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Elyan._

* * *

 

PART I

"Hello, Merlin."

Arthur, leaning against the wall beside the door, greeted Merlin ominously as soon as the erstwhile manservant bundled through the door. Merlin winced.

"Er, hello sire," he replied cautiously, smiling placatingly as he turned to face Arthur, fidgeting with his hands.

"And where have we been tonight?"

"That... depends on where Gaius told you I was."

"Three guesses."

"The tavern," Merlin sighed. "Again." he added under his breath.

"Yes. Becoming something of a habit for you, isn't it, Merlin?" said Arthur, leaning back with his arms folded, light voice laced with mockery. "Well no matter. How about you wash those socks tomorrow to make up for the work you missed, hm?"

"The socks? What socks?" asked Merlin blankly.

"ALL the socks," replied Arthur with a gleeful pointed stare. "And when you're done with that my armour is in a bit of a state, so you can do that too-" just as Merlin was about to sigh heavily, and Arthur list another five chores, they were interrupted by the sound of the alarm bell tolling. They looked sharply at one another at once. Arthur dropped all light heartedness at once, his expression turning to one of alertness and seriousness the instant the first clang cut the night air. It was late, about the time the castle would be turning quietly to slumber, but now the corridors were suddenly awakened, filled with the sound of pounding feet as guards rushed to answer the alarm call. Arthur too seized his sword and leapt to the door, Merlin following after.

In the courtyard, Arthur and Merlin ran into the knights. Leon, Elyan and Percival uttered a hasty "milord" at the sight of Arthur, who immediately asked about the alarm call.

"We don't know exactly, Sire, only that an intruder has entered Camelot," answered Sir Leon.

"How did they get past the walls?"

"I'm told that sorcery may have been involved, my lord," replied Leon heavily. "We have all guards on alert, but there's been no sign since so far,"

"We keep looking," ordered Arthur. "They must not escape."

A loud yell cut the air. Arthur immediately gestured for the others to follow him and they rushed through the courtyard and under a narrow arch to the west gate. A knight in his scarlet cape was sprawled on the stone paving, his sword a few inches from his gloved hand. Leon quickly hurried to the man and put his fingers to his throat.

"Sir Cadog," said Leon in a relieved tone. "Alive."

"Who did this?" asked Elyan, looking around nervously. Arthur swept his gaze around the deserted passage, the high walls of the citadel eerily dark in the shadow of the night. The moon, which ought to be full, was hidden behind a thick swarm of cloud so all that was visible was just a faint, blurry white glow. But there were no signs of the intruder.

"Well, whoever it was isn't here now..." Arthur said slowly. "But don't lower your guard. We'll go to-"

"My lord!" Came the familiar voice of Sir Lancelot. Footsteps pounded on the stone. Arthur looked up, startled, and a heavily breathing Lancelot arrived, leaning on the wall. "In the front courtyard. Sire, you must come quickly!"

With a swift glance at Merlin, Arthur raced after Lancelot. All five of them charged through to the biggest courtyard without hesitation, and drew to a halt when they saw a circle of scarlet-cloaked knights stood with swords raised, pointing inwardly to whatever lay within the enclosure. They jostled, nervously, warily, as if afraid of it, despite the strength in their numbers. Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. Something there was dangerous.

Arthur marched to the knights unwaveringly. They parted to allow him through the human circle, Merlin and the others close behind.

"What is it, have you foun-" Arthur pulled up short so Merlin nearly collided with him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but Arthur had utterly frozen. Merlin craned to see past his shoulder, and his eyes fell on a dark shape. He felt his veins turn to ice.

"Morgana."

\---

PART II

She turned her face towards Arthur, slowly, her alabaster skin tinged with grey but her sea green eyes as piercing as ever. Her hair was in wild disarray and her black gown was visibly torn. She cradled her left wrist awkwardly, and was making no attempt to regain her feet.

"Hello, Arthur," she said in her low voice, her eyes not leaving the King. A muscle was jumping in Arthur's jaw, like he was grinding his teeth at the very sound of her voice. He held her gaze but seemed reluctant to do so, holding it only because he was unable to look away.

"Seize her," he said hoarsely, and Morgana flung up her right hand. All the knights immediately recoiled a step and raised their swords defensively, while a whispered spell was dancing on Merlin's tongue, sure that Morgana was about to strike. But the expected onslaught did not come, and Morgana merely gazed intensely at Arthur, her hand still raised.

"I am not here for trouble," she grated out, her expression hard. "Do you think I would come here like this if I were?" she said bitterly. "I come with a warning, Arthur Pendragon, and you would do well not to ignore it,"

It was enough to make Arthur lower his sword a fraction, but he shook his head. "I do not heed a word you say any more, Morgana," he replied gravely. Morgana simply looked at him and spoke again.

"You have unwelcome visitors in your territory, Arthur. I have met them. We did not get along," she said voice dripping with irony, gesturing at the rips in her clothing and the awkward movement of her left arm. Arthur noticed a long cut on the other, and felt his resolution against her waver, against his will. He swallowed.

"A group of sorcerers. They call themselves the Wiersa. They are powerful users of magic, and they are hungry for power. Above all they loathe your reign and all you stand for." Arthur fancied he saw a glitter of darkness register in Morgana's eyes for a second. Presumably, or so he assumed, she shared that sentiment. The thought steeled him against his troubled sympathies and his expression hardened.

"I would've thought you'd be on excellent terms with them, then." He said bluntly. Morgana laughed without much real humour.

"Not an unreasonable assumption, I grant you," she said, looking almost amused for an instant before her expression grew dark. "But I like them even less than they like you, and they would not hesitate to destroy me," she replied flatly. "Thus I come here offering..." she paused, searching for an adequate word. "My services, in exchange for the protection of the citadel. And I assure you, Arthur, you will need help in due course."

"I can't trust that you speak the truth," Arthur said tonelessly.

"No. And yet here I am, throwing myself at your mercy," Morgana replied sardonically. "I am powerless to escape. Do you think I would be here unnecessarily?"

"What of Sir Cadog? You could've killed him. Why should I believe you won't do the same to us all?"

Morgana's face clouded. "An unintentional accident. Your knight surprised me and I was wounded. I did not intend to harm him. His life was never in danger."

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who shared his look of deep consternation. The knights were growing restless, each of them well aware of the deadly power Morgana held, and fearing this was somehow a trap that would ensnare them all. Arthur could tell many of them were itching to do something, anything, to eliminate the threat, and were waiting with bated breath for his signal. But he found himself frozen as he tried to process what Morgana had said. Could it be true? Did he want it to be true? He had considered Morgana lost to him forever, but could not deny that some small part of him clung to the desperate hope that she might yet be returned to him as she once was.

But looking at her crouched on the ground like a wounded wild animal, he felt deep prickling unease. He knew, rationally, that he did not know this version of Morgana. She wasn't the girl to whom he would once have entrusted his life, or the girl for whose safety and happiness he would willingly have given up his throne. She was a twisted, blackened version of her, shrouded in lies and schemes. The real question was, was the true Morgana still alive in there somewhere, or was she gone for good?

All was silent in the courtyard, awaiting Arthur's command. His mouth opened and closed, and he struggled; for the first time in his reign he truly wished someone else would just take control and tell him what to do, because conflict was consuming his mind and clouding his ability to think rationally. He did not want to choose.

"I..." he finally said, wetting his dry lips. "Considering your history, you cannot expect me to have any level of trust in what you say now-" he broke off hoarsely, shaking his head. "You are an enemy of Camelot. I cannot assume you are doing anything but for your own ends now. You have proved yourself well practised in deceit and trickery for years since you left this castle. I cannot let you walk free." said Arthur, heavily, avoiding Morgana's gaze.

Yet if he had looked up at that moment, he would have seen the first glimmer of true fear in her eyes, as she realised that perhaps she had laid too much on the hope of finding Arthur's mercy. She looked round the circle at the knights who were still, wary, unsure, swords halfway sheathed, and turned tormented eyes to Arthur.

"Arthur, I-"

"What are you waiting for?" Elyan's voice suddenly boomed out alarmingly loudly, drowning out Morgana's whisper. "Take her!"

The other knights seemed to snap out of their reveries, and the sound of a dozen swords scraping out of sheaths accompanied their stirring into action. Morgana closed her eyes, the weight of her terrible mistake settling on her as she remained prone on the ground. Her magic was useless. Arthur looked about him in sudden panic as his men closed in on her, the bravest of them striding towards her with blades held aloft and grim expressions of determination fixed in place as they descended-

"No!" Arthur's sudden bark stilled the knights at once. Their eyes at once flew to their king, before they looked to one another in confusion and uncertainty, swords still held aloft. Morgana's eyes snapped open.

"But... my Lord, she is our greatest enemy, surely you would want-" began Sir Leon, hesitantly.

"I said no, Leon," Arthur interrupted, but more calmly than before. He did not take his eyes off the crouched figure of Morgana, and a charged moment passed between them as their their gazes locked. Arthur's brow knotted, unnerved. He looked away. "Take her to the dungeons. Get Gaius to see to her wounds," he ordered, and Morgana let out a tiny breath, her expression clearing. She seemed to rouse herself to bring back some of her bravado, but it did not erase the memory of her face from mere seconds ago in Arthur's mind, of her afraid and powerless, so small and threatened. He felt a disconcerting abhorrence that he had been the cause of that fearful look and took in a bolstering deep breath, looking about him as if to dare any challengers to speak up. The knights looked restless and discomforted.

"But sire, her powers... this may be our only chance. If she is able to escape from the dungeon she could wreak great damage..." reasoned Elyan, and the other knights murmured their concurrence.

"I am aware, Elyan. But if what she says is true, then she will stay in the dungeon willingly, and wait to present her case." Arthur said solidly. He turned to speak quietly to the six men most trusted to him so only they could hear. "Perhaps this has been a battle of nerve that I have just conceded, but I must know more, and I need you to trust me."

Elyan, Merlin and Leon exchanged uneasy looks, but Percival, Gwaine and Lancelot hesitated only for a moment before they sheathed their swords, their loyalty to Arthur superceding their anxiety. The others did not look happy, but finally each man assented with a dip of his head. Arthur turned back and spoke at large. "I am willing to grant the Lady Morgana a day's grace while further information is gathered. She will remain in the dungeon until then."

"And if she does not?" Elyan said, looking unhappy with Arthur's decision, his fingers still playing on the hilt of his sword.

"On my head be it," Arthur replied, and a tiny smile flickered over Morgana's features. Arthur glimpsed it, and felt wildly disconcerted, unable to tell what that little expression meant and found himself once again gripped with a fear that he had committed a grave error, and that it would quite literally be on his head, and that of every man standing there. He set his jaw, and looked each of his knights in the eye. "For Camelot. If Morgana's story is true, then it seems we may all be in danger anyway by dawn. I must know more before I act," he said, and the knights lowered their gazes in compliance to the King's wishes. Their loyalty to him was unshakeable now, but Arthur hoped desperately he was right to do this, or he knew all that could change.

"How very wise of you." Morgana's voice came as a shock, and fourteen pairs of eyes immediately darted to her. Three hands crept towards swords in belts, and Arthur held up a hand. He stood, calm as he could be, and watched her levelly, as she shifted on the ground, slowly rising to her feet. "Perhaps you've learnt to control that boneheaded recklessness after all? But that doesn't sound like you, does it?" She stood up as tall as she could manage, pride keeping her from showing the pain she was certainly in, but a grimace escaped before she could smooth her features over with cool disinterest. Arthur, ignoring her callous words, found himself battling a powerful instinct to go to her, to help her up and ease her pain.

A self-assured mask reappeared on Morgana's face as she seemed to know that her life was secure, at least for the night, and appeared unable to resist needling Arthur further. He felt wary, like he was attempting to put a partiularly vicious wild animal in a cage, and did not remark. Experience had taught him that no amount of caution was enough with this version of Morgana, robed in black, the shadows of distrust and suffering etched into her pale face, and so he turned away before his conflicted emotions could make him act foolishly.

"I will come to you in the morning, Morgana," he said stiffly.

"I'll eagerly count each passing moment until I have that pleasure, shall I?" came her light mocking reply, and Arthur sensed each of his knights bristling indignantly at the possibility of disrespect to their king. Arthur felt the strange irritation of youth that only Morgana had ever managed to wring out of him and his grip on his sword tightened, but he said nothing more, and only gestured to Percival and Leon to escort Morgana to the dungeons. She went without a fight. He wondered, briefly, if she was disappointed that he would not play her games, and tried not to watch her as she was led away.

"The rest of you get some sleep," said Arthur flatly, feeling the low thrum of a headache already blooming in his temples. ''Merlin, with me."

Arthur strode back to his chambers without speaking to Merlin, who followed after him in tactful silence. When they got in, Arthur threw a chair back from the table, flung himself into it and steepled his fingers, elbows on knees, leaning his chin on his thumbs. Merlin waited, hands behind his back, watching Arthur's troubled contemplation.

"What do you make of this, Merlin?" said Arthur at last. He looked up, then gestured for his manservant to sit, which startled him somewhat. Merlin moved cautiously and sat across from Arthur. "Was I wrong to stop my knights?"

Merlin did not answer for a moment, then spoke in a quiet voice. "Morgana would never have made herself vulnerable like that without good reason. I think she was speaking the truth."

"But even if she was... did I give up what might be our best ever chance at stopping her?" Arthur replied agitatedly, staring at his hands. "We will never have her at our mercy in that way again, Merlin. I am sure of it." They both knew it was true, and Merlin did not respond for a second.

"Why did you do it?" asked Merlin. Arthur looked up, and Merin held his gaze.

"I thought she was telling the truth."

"Is that the only reason?"

Arthur frowned, and both of them knew what the implication was, but Arthur stubbornly said "I don't know what you mean."

"Arthur, it's Morgana. She'll never be just anyone to you. It can't be easy having to decide her fate... she's... we all cared about her. You more than anyone; no one could blame you for wanting to believe-"

"No," Arthur cut him off quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I cannot afford to let our past cloud what I do now. I have to think about what's best for Camelot. I do not regard her differently to any other. I will judge her as if she were a stranger... and that's what she is." Arthur said firmly. "I don't recognise her as the girl I grew up with. She's not the Morgana I once knew."

"And loved." Merlin added softly. Arthur's gaze jolted to him, not angry, but strained.

"It is in the past. Whatever I felt for her then is of no importance now. I can only listen to her story and decide what will best protect Camelot, from her if not from these sorcerers she speaks of."

Merlin nodded. "I know you'll do what you think is right." he said slowly.

"But?" Arthur prompted, knowing Merlin too well to miss the preoccupation in his tone.

"I just... Morgana can't be trusted, Arthur. I worry you'll put yourself in danger because you want to help her when she might... she might be beyond any of our help," he said, eyes downcast so his long eyelashes curled against his pale skin, looking concerned that Arthur would be angered at his words. However, Arthur merely rested his arms on his chair and looked distantly at nothing in particular. He sighed heavily.

"We will see where we stand tomorrow," Arthur said at last, sounding surer than he felt. Merlin hesitated, then nodded. "Get some sleep, Merlin." Merlin dipped his head and exited the King's chambers, though Arthur would have no idea that Merlin did not plan on sleeping that night, anxious by Morgana's nearness and intent on standing guard for Arthur well into the night.

Magic like Morgana's would need magic to hold it off, after all.


	2. Lock and Key

Part III

Arthur slept fitfully. He did little more than drift in and out of a light sleep, every time he nodded off his mind raising images of his knights running a woman in black through, of Morgana's scream, of an unknown threat killing them all. At last he awoke from one such dark vision to a barely-dawn dimness, and knew there was no point in remaining in bed. He did not feel rested, and he quickly felt the knot of anxiety as he hauled clothes from various places in his room, proving for once that he did in fact know how to dress himself. There was no time to wait for Merlin.

But as if on cue, Merlin bumped through the door to Arthur's chambers carrying a tray of food. He started when he saw Arthur, and raised his eyebrows when he noticed he was fully dressed.

"...does this mean I'm out of a job?" he asked lightly. Arthur managed a vague smile, but his heart was too heavy to retort in kind. Merlin seemed to accept this and gave a smile of quiet reassurance.

"Morgana is still in her cell." he said, and Arthur's blue gaze snapped up to him instantly.

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised. Merlin looked thrown for a brief instant.

"Oh, I er, went past the dungeons on my way here."

Arthur stared at him sceptically. "You went past the dungeons... in the lowest part of the castle... to reach my chambers... All the way up here." He said, unconvinced.

"I knew you'd want to know as soon as you were up," Merlin replied quickly. Arthur shrugged.

"Oh. Well, good." He paused. "I... suppose I should go and speak with her," he said slowly. Merlin frowned.

"I'll come with you..."

"No, Merlin. I must speak with her alone." Arthur said, resolute. Merlin looked unhappy, but said nothing more as Arthur ate swift mouthfuls of his breakfast and gulped some water, sighing as he picked up his sword belt. He looked at it, deciding, then slowly placed it back down on the table. He curled and uncurled a fist, glanced at Merlin, and strode out of the room wordlessly. His feet carried him instinctively towards the dungeon and he waved off guards who offered to accompany him, only stopping to take the pertinent keys from the overseer. He marched down into the gloom and down the first long corridor of cells, determined to do this alone.

He rounded the corner.

She was sitting in the cell furthest along, head leaning back against the wall, her long, tangled hair cast impatiently over one shoulder. From a distance, Arthur just could see the white of a bandage indicating that her forearm had been treated, though he suspected she would have been none too happy to let Gaius near her. At first she seemed quite motionless, almost unnervingly so, compressed against the side of the stone cell. She was somewhat awkwardly arranged, still enough to be asleep, but the glitter of her eyes through the half-light told him otherwise. She was staring up moodily at the small slat in the wall, strong daylight casting an almost painfully bright beam through it so that her face was lit up eerily. Arthur swallowed.

He forced himself to approach the cell, and she noticed him quickly. She paused, made no move to get up, and raised her eyebrows. He frowned, remembering the last time this had happened, several years ago when she had incurred Uther's wrath. He had been her saviour. He had intervened for her, released her, would've done anything for her.

How different things were now.

Suddenly Arthur noticed that not only was there a bandage on her forearm, but also a metal shackle. He bristled. Now he realised why she had been sitting so still; she could not move. Both wrists were chained tightly to the wall, the work of some overzealous gaoler, keen to prevent his magical prisoner from escaping.

"For God's sake," Arthur muttered, and withdrew the bunch of keys he had taken from the guard without hesitation, although his heartbeat thudded a little faster in anxious anticipation as he opened the cell door, closing it behind him.

She might still try to kill him. It might have been her plan all along. He watched her, warily, and closed the door behind him. She did not move, only looked up at him with dark-rimmed eyes, heavy with tiredness, but still fierce. Moving with the careful slowness he would have used to approach a particularly volatile horse, Arthur crouched beside her and reached out to take hold of her wrist. Discomfort crossed her features at the contact, but she did not flinch. His fingers grasped her cold skin gently, and he unlocked first one shackle, then the other. She snatched her wrists away the second she was free and rubbed the marks where the metal had bit into her flesh, springing to her feet and watching Arthur warily. He backed off, holding his hands up in peace offering.

“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked quietly. She shrugged and shook her head once, sharply, and he let the subject drop.

"We must speak, Morgana," he said, wanting to get back to the business at hand.

"Yes," replied Morgana, in a voice that cracked slightly from disuse. "I suppose we must."

He swept his gaze around the cell, then over his shoulder at the guards who patrolled frequently, ostensibly just doing their job, but no doubt eager to pick up on gossip they might pass on about this most interesting prisoner.

"I have told you your word means little to me," he said flatly. "But I wish for us to speak openly, and this cell is not the place to do it. Will you swear to me on whatever honour you have left that you will come quietly to and from this cell if I bid it?"

Morgana snorted. "Come quietly? When have you ever known me to do that?"

Arthur stared at her for a moment, startled, wondering whether the double entendre was intentional. She seemed to realise what she'd said only seconds after she'd said it and she immediately glowered at him. "That is _not_ what I meant," she snapped. He found himself hiding a smirk, which unnerved him so much he sobered immediately, and only looked at her expectantly.

She paused, then finally replied. "I will." Arthur nodded once in assent and then frowned, uncomfortable.

"Then I'm afraid I will have to return you to the chains. I do not think my advisors and my knights will take kindly to the sight of you walking freely in this castle."

Morgana made a sound like a displeased cat, but pursed her lips and sardonically extended her wrists. "Fine."

Arthur found did not like to see a guard crudely replacing the irons, and he dismissed him with somewhat more sharpness than was perhaps fair. Morgana's eyes seemed to glimmer for a second, though her mouth stayed in a firm line. He stared at her briefly before he averted his gaze and summoned an armed guard to take them back through the castle, through the quietest, most private route possible. They met no one en route except a terrified-looking servant girl who scampered away as fast as she could at the sight of the King, and the stone corridor to the King's council chamber was otherwise deserted.

"You may leave us," Arthur said to the guards the moment they entered the room. The two men glanced at each other uncertainly.

"But sire-"

"Go." They bowed briefly and exited the chamber without further protest. Arthur looked straight at Morgana, who was steadily staring at some point on the far wall without a word. Her wrists were fixed before her on their short chain.

"Come here," said Arthur. She looked at him in surprise and suspicion.

"No." she replied, looking at him like he had just suggested she strip off and do a one-legged dance for his amusement. He rolled his eyes.

"Your wrists," he said by way of explanation. Her expression cleared slightly, but she stubbornly remained where she was and merely held up her hands. Arthur rolled his eyes and crossed the short distance himself, clicking the locks open quickly and tossing the cuffs onto the round table. Morgana said nothing, but her eyes were less hard than they had been. Arthur cleared his throat. He considered seating them at the great circular table which served as his meeting point so often, yet to have just the two of them at its enormous rim seemed ridiculous.

He sighed and, gambling on his own life again but deciding if she really wanted to kill him she had had enough chances thus far to do so, he motioned for her to follow. They went into a quiet, private study of his that was attached to the hall, which Arthur wasn't sure Morgana had known even existed. A glance at her surprised expression confirmed this.

"I hadn't been in her either until-" he was going to say until Uther died, but decided mentioning the old king right away was perhaps not the wisest move. "-recently." Fortunately Morgana was too distracted by the odd artefacts dotted around the room to pay him much attention.

"You know half of these are magical," she said casually. Arthur looked at her, startled.

"What?"

Morgana flashed a cat-like smile briefly, which made something nostalgic erupt in Arthur's chest. "Well, they were once. Look at this," she tossed Arthur a hand-sized weirdly-shaped metal disc that had always stood propped up against a statue of a rearing horse over the fireplace which he had never bothered to look at too closely. "Druid."

Arthur looked at the inscription uneasily for a second, and laid the trinket aside on a wooden chest. He watched Morgana watching him, and she seemed calculating, looking between him, the coin and the fireplace with some speculation. Suddenly she lifted her uninjured arm and Arthur's heart leapt in sudden panic, thinking she was about to reveal some great malevolent plan after all, but she swiftly raised her hand over the dry logs in the fireplace and her eyes flickered  haltingly to gold. The logs crackled and a few sparks danced over them, but nothing more. Morgana let out a barely audible exhalation before she looked at Arthur steadily.

"There. That is the extent of my powers right now, Arthur. I am no more a threat to you in that sense than Gwen is," she said flatly. It was interesting, but somehow he did not doubt her for a second. Arthur knew, instinctively, that she was telling the truth, and though he kept reminding himself  and that this display was her assurance that he had chosen correctly in saving her life. For now, anyway.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, moving a few steps closer to her. She did not shy away.

"I was in Morcar's lands over the winter. He is careless about who crosses his borders. You know he has had great trouble with rebellion these past months?" Arthur nodded, and she continued tonelessly. "It seems the Wiersa considered his land an elegant foothold into Camelot, as had I. Our paths crossed. At first I thought, as you did, that we would be on the same side," she smiled bitterly, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably at her frankness. "I explored the possibility of an alliance, and they initially seemed willing. But before long it became apparent we were not one and the same at all. They are blood purists, and dislike anyone from outside their clan-base. Plus, they are not accustomed to valuing a woman's counsel.” She wrinkled her nose in obvious dislike. “They are not like the Druids, or indeed any other magical beings I’ve met. They use their magic crudely and aggressively, without any care,- she caught sight of Arthur's pensive expression. "Like a man who swings his mace blindly in contrast to the finesse of a swordsman," she said, her voice tinged with a faintly ironic, condescending tone. Arthur nearly smiled, but contented himself with nodding.

"We came to hostility quickly. But I was within their camp, and it grew dangerous. The men decided they wanted me captive. I was surrounded. When I fought back they sought to kill me," she spoke flatly and almost boredly, but the haunting touch of fresh trauma was unmistakeable in her eyes. "I escaped with my life, but I exhausted my magic doing it. I think it is recovering, but not... quickly." She said, lowering her eyes as if admitting something shameful. Arthur, not for the first occasion since last night, felt true stabs of pity for her, and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

When did she become so broken?

How had he allowed it?

He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."

A flicker of emotion crossed Morgana's face. She watched Arthur intently for his reaction, and something strange registered in her expression. "Are you? You don't prefer me powerless and non-magical?"

"I prefer you happy," he replied honestly.

She looked thrown, as if she did not know what to do with that, so carried on as if he had not spoken. "No longer flinching at the mere mention of magic, then?" She asked flippantly. Arthur looked at her plainly.

"Perhaps my eyes have been opened, even as yours were closed," he replied pointedly, ignoring her scowl of indignation. "Morgana, I am not my father. I do not share his views on all things, and nor have I done as he did. You know that." She looked frozen for the moment before her tongue came unstuck.

"You still persecute my kind. You haven't made magic legal; you still call it a crime, even though it's not something you _do_ , Arthur, it's something you _are_. Something you have to be, and something you always will be, no matter what you wish or choose." The bitterness in her voice was plain enough.

"I _know_." The admission made them both fall silent. "It's not that I... I do not hate sorcery for itself, Morgana. I hate the loss of control it brings. It is dangerous, unpredictable... and in the wrong hands, deadly. I cannot loose it on my kingdom. I don't know how to reconcile it with everything I have ever known. I don't know where its place is in this world." He spoke quietly, avoiding her gaze, a vulnerability about him which she had not seen since they were children. She stared, temporarily at a loss for words, unnerved by the raw honesty seeping from him, far more used to rage and mockery than candour. She cast him a sidelong glance through her long eyelashes.

"You have thought about it," she said, a statement more than a question.

"Lifting the ban? Yes. You were there when we were young and my father ruled. When did I ever take pleasure in watching sorcerers die? Ones who were clearly innocent of any malice, and who didn’t deserve to die? You know I defended each and every one I knew had done no wrong. My father was a strong king, but he was ruthless and it made him a great many enemies. I know that. I want to do better than he did. There are times when I think it could work, that we could start anew in a world where magic has a place, but then every time something happens which makes me realise how out of my control it would be, and how much danger there would be with sorcerers freely practising at every turn." He paused for a moment. "Surely it doesn't surprise you. You are why I cannot give magic a chance. You and all those who use magic to harm-"

"Oh, let's not have this argument again," Morgana snapped suddenly, jerking her chin upwards defiantly. "I am not here to discuss my actions. I do as I think is right, the same as you. The same as I have always done." She dared Arthur to deny it with the stubborn lifting of her chin and the fierce expression in her eyes. Arthur merely looked at her, a half-weary, half-affectionate expression in his eyes.

"I don't doubt it. I just wish I could make you see that I'm not your enemy. That I want to help you and your kind, as I do for all people of Camelot." He spread his arms, palms outwards, as if offering something, though he did not know exactly what. Morgana looked back at him for a long moment, irresolute, and then her mouth tightened.

"It is not so simple. Not any more. Decades of magical death complicate everything about you, Arthur. For all the good intentions you have now, how can I know you won't be shaken one day by a bad experience and start a Great Purge just as Uther did? I cannot see a Camelot which embraces magic while a non-magical king and son of a tyrant remains on the throne."

"So it is hopeless for me, then," retorted Arthur, flatly. "No matter what I do, no matter how I try to prove myself as a king who rules with fairness and mercy, you will never believe it. You will always live to suspect the worst in me." He met her level gaze with blue eyes ablaze with passionate demand.

"I will always live to suspect you are more Uther's son than you realise now." Morgana replied heavily. Arthur made a sound of frustration, and turned away, leaning on the dining table with hunched shoulders. Morgana took one step towards him and fought the deep sense of unease at how intimate and candid this exchange had become. She closed her eyes and pressed pale fingers to her forehead, wishing the complication in their relationship would just fade away.

"I am not saying you are to blame. You cannot help that you were born his son just as I cannot help that I was born with magic. He raised you to hate what you can't control or understand-"

"I do not hate magic, Morgana, how many times must I say it!" Arthur cut in, exasperated, wheeling around to face her.

"Nevertheless, you have Uther's voice whispering to you every time you think about relaxing the law." She replied softly, her eyes speculative. Arthur dropped his gaze. "There. I am right," she said, taking two steps forward so she was almost within touching distance of him. "It doesn't make you a lesser man. But it means Uther's word still lives on." Her voice, unexpectedly, was almost kind, understanding, but Arthur gritted his teeth. He knew she was right, and was angry that she had seen straight away the turmoil he kept deeply buried inside: the fear of insulting his father's memory, and not being the son he had wanted, that no one else knew about. Yet he forced himself to reply calmly.

"Doesn't it live in you too? In your paranoia that I'll become something you used to know I'd never be? That's what he did. That's what did all this damage."

The comparison hit home. Morgana's cheeks flushed with anger, and a shutter fell across her face. "This conversation resolves nothing," she said coolly. "I did not come here to discuss the merits and faults of your kingship. I am here because we share a common enemy, and for no other reason. Let us not dig up the past now."

"Fine." Arthur replied curtly and dragged his usual chair at the end of the table out, dropping into it and gesturing vaguely for Morgana to join him. She did so after a belligerent pause and sat to his left, the corner of the table between them. An angry silence elapsed, with both looking hot-temperedly in opposite directions.

"You arrived here vulnerable and at my mercy. Why did you come to me when you realised these sorcerers were a threat? Why not just run and keep yourself safe?" Arthur finally broke the silence, giving up the time-wasting game, and drew Morgana's gaze back to him.

"Because I know they could destroy you." Morgana said bluntly, and Arthur felt a chill run down his back.

"I thought you wanted that."

Morgana avoided his gaze.

"It wouldn't help me to have a Wiersa king in Camelot. They would kill me or you without distinction."

"So you came here to be protected," said Arthur slowly.

"To be protected. And to protect," Morgana said reluctantly. "Your chances, I imagine, would be greatly improved if I were to help you at full strength," she said with a sardonic roll of her eyes. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"A rather high opinion of yourself, my lady," he snorted, before he could check himself. The term had slipped out before he could remember that she wasn't 'my lady' any longer. It did not go unnoticed by Morgana, who smiled bitterly, or even, he fancied, regretfully.

"Whatever happens, I cannot win against the Wiersa without a king's power. But you can’t win this fight either without magic on your side, Arthur. And that raises a dilemma for you."

Arthur looked at her for a few long moments in dawning realisation. "You want Camelot to fight with magic? What, an army of sorcerers?"

She sighed. "You needn't put it like that, Arthur. It would be no different to your soldiers. They would fight with them. Aid them. Empower them. Because that's what magic can do, Arthur," she said softly, her tone warmer than he had heard it for a long time. He swallowed, hard, and pressed his fingers to his temples in a habit he had had since youth.

"And if we did it. If I allowed this. What's to stop you turning on Camelot once your powers return? How can I trust you?"

Morgana shrugged. "It would do me no good to injure you while the Wiersa still live. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all."

Arthur gave a short laugh. "You offer friendship, then. After all these years of hatred? Of fighting me?"

She looked weary, suddenly, and her voice was ragged. "What I hated was never you, Arthur. Even if I tried I couldn’t forget who you were as a boy. If we had lived another life and were raised in simple fields instead of royal courts, I don't doubt I would have always stayed by your side." As soon as she said it she looked surprised at herself, and then frowned hard, as if chiding herself for the slip up. But the words were out there, and Arthur was thrown.

Taken aback, he said nothing. But his gut told him, then, that a fragile trust was climbing from his heart, whatever warnings there were against it. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling.

Puffing out his breath, Arthur steepled his hands and leaned on the table, thinking hard.

"I will have to take you back to your cell," he said, a faint note of apology in his voice. "Until I have greater knowledge of our situation."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Of course." she said mildly. "Will you be wanting me chained to a wall again too?"

Arthur coughed. "I am sorry about that," he said. "I will speak with my knights as soon as possible. You have my word."

She shrugged and rose to her feet. Wordlessly they walked back to the council chamber and Morgana picked up the shackles Arthur had discarded earlier, dangling them idly in front of him. To her surprise, he took them but merely held them loosely at his side, making no move to use them.

"What?" he said defensively, seeing her looking. "You are, after all, just a powerless and meek woman now, aren't you?" he asked, mock-serious. She glared at him in response, and only smiled reluctantly when she thought he wasn't looking.

He walked her back down through the castle with the hapless guard trotting after them purposelessly. It was almost as if it were five years ago and he was walking her to her bedroom after a feast, but the gloom of the lower part of the castle quickly reminded them that it was very different. Arthur felt deeply awkward accompanying Morgana to watch her be put behind iron bars, and he frowned as the guard locked the door behind her. She stood facing out unashamedly and forced him to catch her eye, and the fierce look of defiance he saw there somehow made him feel better.

Part of him felt dangerously like it was getting the old Morgana back. But the rational part reminded him not to lose his sense to wild, desperate hope, and take this side of her with a pinch of salt. He knew that this was a fragile, temporary truce which Morgana might break at any moment.

Arthur inclined his head once, and took his leave.

He called a council that afternoon.


	3. House Arrest

PART IV

"You are, I'm sure, all aware why we're here," Arthur stood at the round table, his knights all seated around it, peering at him speculatively. Since last night, they had all been discussing Morgana's arrival with vast interest to rival any gossiping girls. More than half of them had privately been convinced that Morgana would be on the loose by morning and wreaking havoc in Camelot, though of course all were too loyal to Arthur to say so. Now, they were all either greatly relieved that their king had been proven right, or simply convinced Morgana was just biding her time before she struck.

"...Morgana remains under guard, having fled here to us last night, as you already know, making an offer of service in exchange for our protection from a renegade group of sorcerers who threaten not only the people of Camelot, but the values on which we all rest, of freedom and honour. Of justice and friendship." Arthur paused, surveying the men, who regarded him with keen interest. "I have since spoken with her at some length about the matters of which we spoke last night, and have come to believe that Morgana is telling the truth," declared Arthur firmly, looking around the circle, where a few doubtful looks were being exchanged. "Therefore, I put it to you, as my most trusted knights and council of Camelot, that we accept this offer made to us, not only out of mercy and honour, but to safeguard the interests of our kingdom."

A pause followed Arthur's strong opening. Sir Leon then cleared his throat, and Arthur nodded for him to speak freely.

"My Lord, we have no doubt in your judgement." he began respectfully. "But Morgana has been a grave enemy of Camelot for years... she has brought nothing but trouble to us. It is hard to see her truly wishing to help us without selfish reason..."

Arthur nodded. "A valid concern. But we are not fooled into thinking she has come here out of benevolence, make no mistake. She is not reconciled to Camelot, and this is no pardon for her. She has come here because it was the only way to escape these sorcerers - and I may add, it was they who dealt her the injuries which you saw last night, and which rendered her powerless to escape. She did not seem the powerful sorceress we all know her to be, did she?"

A murmur of concurrence went round the table.

"Then surely that ought to be a warning to each of us about the threat that lies outside Camelot?"

"But why would we want to protect her at all? Why not let them kill her? It would save us the job," said a young knight, Sir Leodred, a sour expression on his face. Arthur saw a few other knights nod in agreement and frowned.

"It is true that the only evidence we have of the sorcerers' existence is Morgana's word thus far," Arthur replied. "But we cannot rule out the possibility that she is correct. And if so, we owe her a debt for bringing it to our attention early. And it may be that we need her," he said calmly, facing Leodred down grimly. "We know she is powerful, but I have reason to believe in her current condition she is no threat to us. It would be unwise to turn her against Camelot even further if a greater threat is building. What if we find ourselves in a position that requires all the allies we can get? One so powerful as Morgana is better as an ally than a foe, as we know all too well. I will not cast her out until the facts are clearer. Are there any further objections?"

"She will remain in the dungeon?" asked Sir Elyan, his eyes boring into Arthur's. Arthur returned his gaze, and pursed his lips.

"For the time being." He replied. A silence fell.

"Well, I don't see the harm in keeping all our options open. She hasn't tried anything so far. If she wanted to murder us all in our beds, why would she wait?" Gwaine said cheerfully, breaking the pensive quiet. Arthur nodded at him in approval.

"Good. Then the matter is settled for now. Morgana remains, unharmed, and granted temporary refuge in Camelot. In the meantime, we must send out search patrols to the borders with Morcar's land and the nearby areas. These sorcerers must be discovered," Arthur ordered. "Leon, I want you to lead a patrol east."

"Yes, Sire," Leon replied at once. Arthur leaned back.

"Very well. Then the council is dismissed."

PART V

"You really think she's here to help?" Merlin asked absently. "It's just so... unlikely. She was so bent on destroying Camelot, and now she wants to help save it?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's not without reason. It happens often enough in politics, Merlin. Lifelong enemies can turn around and fight each other's causes if the payoff is strong enough. Morgana's life is at risk outside the citadel, so there's no reason for her to destroy it."

"If she's telling the truth."

"She is."

"How do you know that?"

Arthur, sat half-lying down in a chair on the hearth with his feet propped up on a small table, looked over at Merlin with a mild frown.

"I grew up with her, Merlin. I know her. I know she's not how she used to be, but... you don't just forget a person completely. No matter how much they change. When I spoke with her, it was... it was like the old Morgana was back. She was frank. Honest. There were no secrets."

"Arthur... I know you want to believe that about her. But I fear she's past the point of no return."

"Merlin, I owe it to her to give her this chance," Arthur said suddenly, leaping from his sprawled position to gesture vehemently with his hands, pacing the room as he did. He raked his hands through his hair agitatedly. "Every day I wonder if I could've saved her all those years ago. She was always so compassionate when we were young, Merlin. So fierce and kind and warm. How could I have let her slip into what she's become? How did I not notice that she was struggling? How could I, who was supposed to love her and look after her above anyone else, not have protected her from whatever it was that twisted her this way?"

Merlin was silent, eyes downcast, expression deeply troubled. "Maybe it wasn't in your power, Arthur. Maybe someone took it out of your hands."

Arthur stared at him. "What?" he asked, nonplussed. Merlin sighed bleakly.

"I don't want you to get hurt because you feel guilty about what happened to her. You weren't to blame. You didn't know, and she didn't come to you for help."

"But she is now! I should've been able to help her back then, but I couldn't. And if I can do it now, then... How can I not, Merlin? How can I just ignore her when she's here, and I have a chance to fix her."

"She's not just something you can pick up and put back together. She's dangerous."

"Even so. I have to try." Arthur replied in a quiet, sincere voice. Merlin took one look at his resolute face and knew, then, that his mind was made up. He hesitated, but nodded.

"I understand," he murmured.

"Thank you for your concern, Merlin. I do know you have my best interests at heart. And however I treat you... everything you do... it does not go unnoticed," said Arthur, rubbing his temples. While his gaze was averted, he missed the ironic smile Merlin quickly hid.

"Thank you, Sire," Merlin said, clearing his throat slightly.

Arthur wandered over to the window and looked out, tracing his jaw pensively.

"I can't keep her in the dungeon indefinitely. It's not right. And besides," Arthur said wearily. "if she really wanted to escape I don't think the dungeon would hold her for long."

"That's true."

"But the knights won't be happy if she's wandering the castle freely."

"No."

"But if it were any other ally I wouldn't be keeping them in my dungeon, would I?"

"Probably not."

"Right. So I'll... put her under house arrest. For now." Arthur said, wrinkling his nose. Merlin blinked.

"Right."

"You're just full of insights today, aren't you?"

Merlin grinned sheepishly. "You're the king, not me" he pointed out brightly.

"That's fortunate, for everyone's sake," said Arthur, eyebrows raised as he scooped his jacket off the back of the chair he had flung it over on his way to the door. "I'm going to make the arrangements to get her out."

PART VI

"You don't have to, Arthur. I'm not a pampered princess anymore. I can handle your dungeon. It would appease your anxious knights, no doubt, however irrational the logic is." Morgana said coolly, facing Arthur through the bars of her cell.

"But I am still their king, and I will keep no ally of mine in a cell," he said firmly, gesturing for the guard to hand him the key.

Morgana gave a sharp laugh. "Is that what we are now? Allies. I did not think we would live to call ourselves that again." Arthur looked at her warily.

"Nor I," he remarked, only a slight pause before he resolutely slid the key in the lock and turned it, sliding the heavy bolts back as the door swung back, creaking on its hinges. "Besides, you are still under my jurisdiction, of course. I am merely moving you to a less..." he eyed the cell suspiciously. "...underground cell".

Morgana shrugged. "You're the king."

"So I keep being told," Arthur replied dryly. He stood aside from the door, and she took cautious steps towards it, casting him a sidelong glance. "But Morgana?"

"What?"

"Just... behave yourself."

He got a fleeting smile in response that was quickly hidden.

They walked through the castle in a subdued manner, and there was a strange air about them as they went. Neither was then quite sure what to say, or at least Arthur was not, and Morgana did not feel the need to speak. He cleared his throat as they approached the higher quarters of the castle and Morgana looked at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

"Your old quarters are, of course, still... vacated," he said slowly. Her expression remained unreadable. "Do you wish to stay there, or would elsewhere be preferable?"

She did not reply for several tense moments (at least Arthur was tense) and merely looked at him in a way that had always made him automatically recall every wrongdoing he had ever committed in the momentary panic that she knew all of them. But then she smirked and rolled her eyes and he let out the breath he did not realise he had been holding.

"I don't care very much, Arthur. I told you, I'm no princess these days."

He shrugged. "Whatever pleases you."

Morgana raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Suddenly Arthur realised they had reached the arched door which had always been hers, in the old days, since she was a child arriving for the first time in an unfamiliar castle, orphaned, alone, and still utterly defiant. He looked at her, but she was still a blank mask, and he wished not for the first time that she woud be easier to read. He opened the door swiftly, and averted his gaze as she surveyed it.

It did not look drastically different to how it had when she last used it. Uther had refused to even touch the room's contents and so for the time between Morgana leaving and Uther's death it had merely been a peculiar time capsule, dust gathering on everything she left behind on the day she left. Arthur had had it cleaned out when he became king, but had never assigned the rooms to anyone else, not even visitors. Now, it stood, tidy and on the sparse side, but with a vase of fresh wildflowers standing on the cabinet.

She noted them wordlessly, and looked over at him with some reservation in her gaze. Arthur looked back at her and took a few steps into the room, running his palm over one well-dusted surface.

"I hope all is to your satisfaction," he said formally.

"Because I'll be staying here a while, you mean?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. Arthur shrugged.

"House arrest is the best I could do, Morgana, considering the circumstances-"

"I know, Arthur, I'm not ungrateful." she cut him off quickly and turned her back, looking out of the window at the view of the courtyard she once knew so well with a frown. "It's strange to be back in here. I never thought I would be," she said in a low voice. Arthur moved quietly to stand just behind her and slightly to her left. She was restless with his nearness, and cast a fleeting sidelong glance to check his position without properly looking at him.

"I know it won't mean much to you," he said cautiously. "But... I'm glad to see you."

She froze. He did not see as she turned her head away, but her eyes squeezed tightly shut for a brief second before she turned around.

"You're right," she said tonelessly. "It doesn't mean much. You should stop this, Arthur. Don't think things are different now. A truce doesn't mean we can go back to how we were."

Arthur looked at her for a long moment, stung. His jaw tightened.

"As you wish. Some of your old clothes are still in the wardrobe if you want them," he said coolly.

She turned around again and did not move until she heard his footsteps retreating. She leaned her head on the glass and closed her eyes.

Arthur turned the key in the lock from the outside without hesitation, feeling the bitter hurt of realisation that the old Morgana was still a long way out of reach, if she still existed at all.

...

PART VII

A day later, Morgana remained in her rooms, thoroughly bored. She had not seen Arthur since he had left the day before, and she felt a twinge of... was it regret? She had used the long hours of isolation in the dungeon to take herself through her plans again and again, swearing that she would use Camelot to her advantage, eradicate her enemies, then return to working against Arthur, but she realised now with some dismay that she had misjudged the situation quite badly.

She hadn't factored in how a lifetime of memories flooding back to her as soon as she saw her childhood companion would affect those plans.

She wanted to be able to use him and discard him, and had assumed her heart was hardened against him enough to do so. Only every time he looked at her with those honest, kind eyes of his, she felt her resolve slip a tiny fraction, and it scared her to death. She was playing such a dangerous game already, trying to draw out his trust while keeping him at arm's length, knowing as she did that she had no intention of ever again being his friend. The moment their common enemy was destroyed, Morgana knew their alliance would dissolve just as certainly.

Then it would be back to trying to pull the throne out from under him.

She threw herself down into the comfortable chair near the fireplace and moodily raised the arm which wasn't bruised black and blue from her run in with the Wiersa. She spoke the incantation loudly and clearly and channelled all her focus into her magic, but once again all that happened was a brief sizzle and a few sparks that failed to light. Her expression stormy, she leaned her head on her hand and looked away from the unlit fire, then glanced down at the ragged black dress she had still refused to remove despite its sorry state. She'd opened the wardrobe, taken one look at the pretty pink and blue gowns hanging inside, and felt too disconcerted to wear any of them.

But really, the one she was wearing was on its way to becoming a set of rags. There was a tear all up the skirt and the bottom was caked in mud from the forest. One sleeve was practically hanging off and a rip in the bodice meant that if she wasn't careful, she would soon be showing a lot more than she was intending. With a defeated sigh she got up and opened the wardrobe again. The trouble was, she remembered all the fine dresses in there too clearly, and didn't like the memories they evoked. There was the crimson one she wore for Arthur's birthday feast the year before she left. The pale blue one from Uther's. The golden one she wore to watch Arthur win Uther's summer tournament for the first time.

She rifled through the soft silks and velvets with a bristling irritability, and eventually she tugged free a muted silvery-grey gown, as plain as she could find, which she vaguely recalled wearing to some obscure ball years ago, sufficiently devoid of clear memories to make it inoffensive enough to wear.

She washed, slowly, with the basin of water a young woman brought her in the morning, and wondered vaguely what had become of Gwen lately. As she dried off she spied her reflection in a looking glass she did not remember being there before, and felt saddened by the pallor and the grey rings around her eyes. Her hair looked like a bird's nest with countless tangles knotting it into a mess she wasn't actually sure she could undo, and, sitting in her under-things, she picked up a hairbrush with some trepidation.

She was well out of the habit of taking care of her appearance.

Half an hour and a sore scalp later she gave her hair up as beyond her own grooming talents and merely tried to pin it away from her face. She then picked up the grey dress and did her best to fasten herself inside it, unused to the complex ties and folds this calibre of gown required. She sighed, and inspected herself once again, and it was a quietly unnerving thing to see herself look almost as she used to.

But it was either this or a dress rapidly turning into ribbons. She flung herself on her bed, admittedly a wondrously comfortable thing compared to the hard pallets she'd spent the past four years sleeping on.

House arrest was boring.

She didn't even have her magic to entertain her, and the only person she saw all day was the servant girl who brought the water. There were guards outside her door too, but they didn't say a word, only let the servant in and out.

She was becoming so use to isolation that when a faint cough reached her ears she nearly leapt bodily off the bed, instinctively throwing a hand in front of her even though it had no defensive power now. She took in the figure stood tentatively near her door and her expression iced over.

She scowled.

"What do you want, Merlin?" she asked coldly, with as much contempt as she could, even though her heart started to beat a bit faster in fear as she remembered the unusual perceptiveness, the calculation and the deceit of this serving boy. She remembered how he'd nearly killed her.

"I don't want to fight," he said hoarsely. "I know you still hate me. I know I deserve it."

"Good, then we're on the same page. You can leave me in peace."

"I just need to know Arthur's not in any danger, Morgana," he said quietly. She snorted derisively.

"And how did you plan on doing that, Merlin? Come in here, ask a few questions and expect to draw out some intricate plot from me? Sorry to disappoint. I've told Arthur nothing but the truth. I don't need to explain myself to his servant."

Merlin seemed to take in her hard words for a moment, then spoke unfalteringly.

"He wants so much to believe in you again. He still cares about you, Morgana, and he's already treated you with more kindness than you deserve after everything you put him through." Merlin said gravely.

"You're a fine one to talk," she snapped coolly in reply, the dark rings around her eyes even more pronounced with the shadow of anger that fell over her face. "What did I ever do to you to deserve you trying to murder me? How could I trust anyone after that? If you don't trust me now, Merlin, then just know it's all your own doing. You didn't trust me back then, and this is what I've become. You're the one who showed me even the greatest friend can turn around and stab you in the back. You're the killer who made me one too, Merlin."

His face, so gentle by nature, looked stung at her harsh words and he said nothing in reply, his hands hanging limply at his sides. She did not allow herself to feel remorse, and turned from him coldly.

"If Arthur trusts me now, then why don't you follow his lead? We might all have been saved this hurt if you'd done so back then." She said coolly. "Unless you don't trust him either, in which case you really might want to review the way you treat your friends."

"I want to trust you too." Merlin finally said. "I do. I'm sorry for what I did. I wish you hadn't become this way. If I could take it back I would. But I will protect Arthur, and if you're here to harm him..." Merlin looked at her sadly. "I will find out, and I will stop you."

Morgana almost laughed. "Nothing's changed, has it? Well run after your master, Merlin. I mean him no harm until the Wiersa no longer walk the earth. After that... well, everyone is fair game." She shot him a dark smile and turned away, flippantly throwing herself into a low chair and leaning on the arm idly, making it clear the discussion was over. Merlin paused for a few moments, before he turned and exited the room.

She only let the concern show on her face when she was sure he was gone, and then she started to brood.


	4. Chapter 4 - Persuasion

PART VIII

Two days later, Arthur was expecting patrol reports from Leon at any day. But as it happened, they were no longer necessary when in the late afternoon, just as the sun started to set, a desperate woman with two young children arrived in the citadel begging for an audience with the King.

"My village is near the border to King Morcar's lands," she said in a trembling voice. "Three days ago some men arrived, looking to buy crops. We told them we had nothing to spare, but they would not leave, and that night they killed the wives and children of the village leaders. They took the sons as slaves, and told the rest of us they would return in the morning and we would give them our crops, or every man, woman and child would be killed," she started to sob, and Arthur was filled with pity, but impatience to know the rest of the story. He tried, as gently as he could, to coax the woman into continuing speaking.

"...we gave them everything we had," she whispered, "but it was not enough. They started to ravage the village, killing everything in their way. My husband told me to take the children and run, and I did. He was killed protecting us."

"I give you my word, I will do all I can deliver justice to you," Arthur said gravely. "I know it is hard, but you must tell me all you can about these men. Who were they? Where did they come from?"

"I know not from where they came, Sire," quavered the woman. "But they used magic. Such terrible magic. And they spoke their name in triumph..." she gave a great shudder and Arthur, on tenterhooks, tried to appear calm and patient as he waited for her to say it.

"They called themselves the Wiersa, my lord." She finally choked out. Arthur did not speak for moments, and nor did he give anything away with his expression. Inside, he felt a mixture of anger, anxiety and relief. His sense of justice made him rage against the perpetrators who had slaughtered his subjects, and he worried for the threat they presented. But a very clear part of him was relieved, for this report meant Morgana had told him no lies.

"Thank you. My sincerest condolences go to you, and I will do all in my power to punish those who have committed this crime."

Hours later, Leon and the knights returned. His story was the same; his party had arrived at a village just west of the woman's, and a similar scene of wreckage was all that was to be found.

"It seems Morgana's story is true," Leon admitted grimly. "The people spoke of sorcerers who came without mercy. The slaughter was great, Sire. Their power is not something we can ignore."

"And we will not."

"Would you like me to assemble the forces, my lord? If we mount a rapid attack, we would have the benefit of surprise..."

Arthur looked at Leon, and Morgana's words from days earlier came rushing through his head _. I don't think you'll win without help_. He had not been back to see her since she had warned him off, although the temptation to had been strong, and warily kept away from her part of the castle, his pride wounded and his heart saddened at her coldness. But she was here as an ally, and it would be pointless to keep her here if he would not see her.

"Send a force to the nearest village to the ones already hit and defend it. We have no idea where these sorcerers are. An outright attack would be foolish when we don’t know what we’re dealing with."

"Very well, Sire." Leon bowed and took his leave, and Arthur remained, a tight frown on his brow as he paced the now-deserted throne room, and tried to muster the composure to pay a visit to Morgana's chambers. He passed a hand wearily over his face and squared his shoulders as he left the quiet of the large, empty hall and headed up towards the even quieter part of the castle where Morgana was still kept within the confines of her room, stuck there for days without visitors. He felt a stab of guilt, imagining Morgana's discomfort at being kept like a caged bird, and reasoned that soon enough it would surely be acceptable to allow her leave.

He knocked on the door, even though it was locked from the outside, and heard her muffled response. He cleared his throat.

"It's... Arthur."

"You do realise you have to open the door yourself, don't you?" came the snide reply from within. Arthur rolled his eyes and unlocked the door, swinging it open forcefully.

"I was just being polite."

"Well, that's new for you. What can I do for you, my lord?" said Morgana, sarcasm dripping from the last two words, as she surveyed him, not bothering to get up from her seat by the fireplace - where a crackling fire was burning merrily - and eyeing him interestedly with those bright eyes of hers. Arthur watched her warily.

"Come for a walk."

She was immediately suspicious, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

"What? Arthur, I told you, it's a stupid idea for you to-"

"My patrols returned with undoubted evidence of the sorcerers you reported," he cut her off before she could begin a sniping tirade. "There can be no doubt you have spoken the truth now. I must speak with you, and you must surely wish to see the outside of this castle once more. But we may speak here, if you so wish."

He could see her warring with herself. She was loathe to accept his company where not necessary, but she was evidently desperate to leave the confines of her boring room, and this was her best chance to do so. Finally, the latter won out. She nodded, and got slowly to her feet. It was then that Arthur realised, trying to conceal his surprise as he wondered how he could have overlooked it, that she did not look at all like the woman who had been chained to the dungeon wall just a few days ago. Her face was no longer greyish, and the shadows under her eyes had faded. Someone skilled had been at her hair, for the wild tangles had been coaxed back to something closer to the sleek waves they had once been. And gone was the torn black dress, in its place an emerald gown pooling at her feet. It was an old gown, looking almost out of place on her now, but there was no doubt such finery suited her like no other.

She caught him looking and scowled, shattering the illusion. He looked away abruptly and kept his expression carefully neutral.

"Do you still ride?" he asked as they walked out together, attracting a few surprised looks but passing mostly unnoticed.

"Occasionally."

Arthur shrugged. "Then we'll take the horses."

She did not protest.

When they were out in the forest, he watched her from the corner of his eye and caught the sigh of relief and pleasure she gave at the feel of the cool earthy air, which was especially fresh after a light rain shower that afternoon. Arthur smiled to himself.

"What have you done, then?" she asked suddenly, after they had ridden in silence for some moments.

"What?"

"What have you done about the Wiersa?"

"Leon's taken some knights to the nearest village to the ones hit."

Morgana looked at him coolly. "That was unwise. You won't get them back."

Arthur stared at her. "What?"

"I told you they were not to be taken lightly. They'll make short work of a small group of mere knights, Arthur. You'll be lucky to see Leon again." Her words were flat and dispassionate, but they sent a violent chill through Arthur. Was she right? Had he sent his best commander to his death? His hands were tight on the reins and his face a shade paler than usual. Morgana took one look at it and frowned.

"Don't torment yourself. You can't do anything about it now. Except, perhaps, pay closer attention to my advice."

"And what would you have me do? Let these sorcerers destroy half of Camelot while I do nothing?"

"Of course not. You could have been gathering strength for the past four days, if you'd trusted me. Of course, I see why you didn't, but still. It's not too late."

"Morgana, surely you see how utterly impossible it is for me to suddenly turn around and let you build an army of sorcerers in Camelot!"

"It's not impossible. It's difficult for you, because you're so closed minded, but it's all perfectly possible."

"I am not closed minded!"

"There you go again."

"Morgana!"

"Needling you is still alarmingly easy."

He stared at her in complete astonishment. " _You_ are impossible."

"Hm. What do you want to do, Arthur? Save Camelot, or stubbornly cling to your pride? You know which one your father did every day of his life, and look where it got him." She remained with her eyes calmly straight ahead and did not seem at all phased by how easily they had slipped back into their old way of speaking to one another, though he felt distinctly unsettled. He sighed.

"Leave my father out of this."

"Fine by me. It'd be easier without his absurd laws in the picture-" Arthur felt a stab of irritation at her flippancy.

"That's not what I meant, and stop treating this so lightly!"

She rolled her eyes.

"I know where the Druids are. I can find them and persuade them to help. I know of other sorcerers. The question is: what are you going to do? What do you want?"

"I want peace, and without having to compromise at least twelve laws of Camelot to get it."

"Ah, well, you can't have everything. Sacrifice, Arthur. You and I should know it well by now."

Arthur shot a look at her, trying to work out what she meant, but she merely flashed a sarcastic smile and spurred her dark chestnut horse into a canter, so that she darted far ahead before Arthur could so much as open his mouth. He gave a heavy sigh, and pushed his own horse on in an attempt to catch her up, though she was several strides out of his reach. A smile made its way onto his face when he heard her laugh a breathless, free laugh which was all but lost in the wind, and he was struck by the sight of her, green silk and dark hair flowing behind her. There was a freedom in it with which neither of them was well acquainted.

Eventually she eased her horse up and Arthur finally caught up, drawing his horse up beside her.

"Not trying to make a run for it, are you?"

She laughed. "If I were, you would be staring into thin air by now."

"Listen... I am sorry to keep you in the castle all the time. I know it must be more boring than one of Merlin's jokes."

Her face clouded slightly at the mention of it, and she shrugged. "It can't be helped. Just tell me what you want me to do, Arthur. For once I'm letting you call the shots."

"What if I don't want to decide?" He asked petulantly, then wondered why he would say such a thing to her. She merely smiled.

"You gave up that right when you took the throne. You're the king, Arthur, despite my best efforts. You should enjoy it while you can," she said, smiling wolfishly. He shifted, not sure how serious she was, and decided to let the blatantly treacherous implications slide.

"I will ready my armies for war. And you..." he paused. “I cannot allow you to invoke magic, even in the name of Camelot. I’m sorry. It’s not only that I can’t trust magic… it’s that I will never be able to persuade my knights and my people that this is not hypocrisy on my part. Half my father’s lifetime was spent fighting magic; I cannot overturn that in mere days.”

Morgana looked at him for long moments, eyes speculative. "All right, Arthur," she said softly. He stared at her suspiciously.

"I have your word you will do nothing I don't permit you to do?"

"I thought you said my word meant nothing."

"Well I want to have it anyway."

She laughed shortly and flicked her newly-sleek hair over her shoulder. "As you wish, _sire_. I give you my meaningless word that I will obey orders. No sorcerers,” she said, then added under her breath. “…for now.”

He smiled reluctantly, and looked over through the trees, where a sunset glow was just about making its way through the leaves. He sighed, feeling suddenly sad, and he knew it was because he was being given this little taste of Morgana's good side, the one he knew so well, the one who was his friend. It was like the other part of her, the furious, bitter, hating side had temporarily been silenced because it needed an alliance, and the witty, infuriating, alive Morgana was back to secure it. And it was torture to feel the hope blaze, only to see it dashed when the coldness returned to her eyes, almost an icy mask she forced into place to prevent him from getting too close.

He glanced at her, and to his surprise she seemed to share his melancholy, her eyes downcast and a troubled expression tugging the corners of her mouth down. She looked bleak, and when her gaze flicked up to meet his for once she did not pull away.

"You have to stop hoping for what you want to come from this. It'll only hurt you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. Arthur, you want to change me. You want to go back to how we used to be. You want us to be friends like we once were, and you want to trust me. You want to mend me."

He did not reply for a moment, realising there was little point in denying what they both knew to be true. "Is that so wrong?"

"I'm not broken."

"Do you really believe that? Don't you remember how you used to be? How you would laugh and talk and dance and live? Don't you remember feeling whole? Are you really happier the way you are now?"

"I have different priorities-"

He laughed, despairingly, and shook his head. "What do you want? What will it take to make you happy?"

She avoided his gaze, and gave no answer.

"Arthur, I don't wish to see you hurt. Not... you. I don't want you to suffer; that's not what I've ever wanted, even if it seemed that way. But if you keep thinking there's a future for us as... friends, as... whatever it is you want us to be now, or used to want, you will be disappointed."

They reached the end of the path.

Arthur turned his horse abruptly to take them back on course to the castle. "Don't worry," he said. "I ask for nothing from you, except service in defence of Camelot. You're free to keep treating me like a stranger, or worse. Whatever pleases you."

She looked caught between deeply sad and hotly angry, and with a tiny jerk of her chin upwards she nudged her horse into a brisk trot so she sailed forward away from Arthur, whose own horse was ambling leisurely along the path. He made no effort to catch her up this time, and resignedly watched her put several strides between them. They remained apart until the castle loomed before them and they dismounted in silence. Heavy hearted, Arthur accompanied her to her rooms, and she said nothing as he hovered by the door.

"Goodnight, Morgana," he said quietly, and closed the door behind him, turning the lock and pocketing the key.

…

Part IX

The next morning Arthur did his best to set his pride aside, not letting the unease between Morgana and him stop him from attending to matters of business. He went to her rooms after breakfast and knocked briefly before unlocking the door. Inside, Morgana sat at the window, dressed in navy blue, her hair plaited away from her pale cheeks. She looked at him once with exaggerated disinterest.

“What can I do for you, _my lord?”_

“Don’t give me attitude,” Arthur said irritably. “I am not in the mood.”

Morgana looked a little surprised, but immediately shrugged as if unbothered. She moved reluctantly, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“I want to bring you to speak to the knights in the courtyard.” Arthur said. Morgana scoffed immediately.

“Oh, you think that’s a good idea, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” Arthur replied calmly. “The knights are not happy about your being here. They are not convinced by your story. You need to present yourself to them and persuade them of your good intentions, or we will have no hope of success while they resist us.”

“You’re mad if you think me showing up to say sweet things to your toy soldiers will do anything to convince them. What reason do they have to trust me?”

“What reason do I have?” Arthur replied. “And yet I do, in this.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You and I-“ Morgana broke off and looked irritated. “You know how it is different “

Arthur took pity on her and did not push the issue. “Even so. You will have to be convincing. There’s no fooling my best knights. They know how you’ve lied in the past. But there are those who could be persuaded by a show of faith from you.”

Morgana laughed derisively.

“What fools you must keep among them, if that’s true,” she said derisively, but she rose to her feet with a challenging look on her face. Arthur looked mildly surprised. “What? Who am I do defy a great king?” She said snippily, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Come,” he said, and he held open the door for her. They walked in silence down the castle corridor and down the many steps, Morgana’s silken gown swishing as she glided over the stone. She paused at the door which led outside, as if nervous, and Arthur instinctively placed a reassuring hand briefly on her back. She jerked slightly and marched outside, placing a stride between them. Arthur ignored this and followed, blinking in the bright sunshine.

They had not come within a earshot of the knights who were training in the clearing when Elyan looked over and saw them, his face darkening immediately. He started to approach them, and Gwaine, noticing, jogged after him.

“You’re letting her roam freely now are you _?_ ” Elyan’s indignant voice was defiant as he blocked Arthur and Morgana’s passage towards them. Arthur sensed Morgana bristle and he shot her a warning look.

“Elyan, I understand your concern. But Morgana has told the truth thus far, and the situation we find ourselves in cannot be remedied without… help.”

“From _sorcerers?_ Arthur, have you gone mad? She’s dangerous! This is bound to be just another way to get us all killed!”

“I have not given my permission for any business with sorcerers.”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but… when has she ever needed your permission to do anything before?” Gwaine’s voice joined the standoff, albeit with his usual flippant cheer. He looked Morgana up and down and winked at her. She looked back at him disdainfully, then gave an unkind smile in reply, as if imagining some awful way to make him suffer. Arthur glared at Gwaine.

“Well, Arthur? Why is she out here?” Elyan demanded.

“There are things that must be said to the knights, from Morgana herself. She deserves that opportunity,” Arthur said patiently. Elyan snorted.

“You want her to trick the men into playing along with her schemes.”

“No, Elyan, I do not wish to trick my men. Nor do I wish to see more of my people killed before my _most loyal knights_ decide to start paying attention,” snapped Arthur, finally losing his temper. “Get back to training.” Seeing that the king was serious, reluctantly Elyan backed down and fell silent, though his face was thunderous. Gwaine put a hand on his shoulder and they turned silently, leaving Arthur tense and annoyed.

“Well. Are you still so sure that this is a wise idea, my lord?” Morgana said flippantly. Arthur looked at her wearily.

“You will still speak with them. You will be gracious, but firm. Penitent, but not pathetic. Charming, but not false. Do you understand?” Morgana looked disgusted.

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child, Arthur.” She sniffed. She looked at the knights sparring calculatingly, and pursed her lips.

“A word, if you please!” Arthur shouted, catching the attention of his men, who immediately gathered to hear what the king had to say. “The lady Morgana wishes to address you, Knights of Camelot, in the hope that you will judge her fairly and without prejudice. Please do her the courtesy of listening to what she has to say.”

He nodded to Morgana, then stepped back, wondering if this was a good idea or not. Was she capable of reining in that ferocious temper? Was she going to make things worse, and show him up as a fool?

“Knights of Camelot,” Morgana began steadily. “You have had much reason to distrust me, and to resent my presence in the citadel-“ A murmur ran through the knights. “-but it is my wish that such ill-feeling can be laid aside for a cause that is greater than those which have driven us thus far.” She clasped her hands in front of her, the picture of regal calm. Arthur took a moment to marvel at the masterful way she schooled her features, her eyes very earnest but resolute. He knew she was deceptive. The question was, how much of this _was_ deception, and where did the truth begin?

“I have fought for you in the past, just as you have fought for me and my… family.” Morgana lowered her eyes. The knights shifted, some looking surprised, some suspicious, and some who were clearly falling under her spell. “Those times seem distant from us, but it is my wish now that we lay aside our unhappiness and unite our forces to address a threat that is dangerous to each and every one of us. I have nothing to gain from being your enemy, and you have nothing to gain from being mine. On this day, we are equals. We are allies. You need not fear me, nor doubt me. On this you have my word.”

A long silence elapsed. Arthur scanned the crowd and was relieved to see several knights nodding, one particularly young man even smiling at Morgana. But he caught the gaze of Leon, Percival and Elyan, whose expressions were grim. Elyan bent to whisper something to a dark-haired knight, who nodded.

“Well then, _my lady_ , do you pledge _life and service_ to our king, the King of Camelot? If you want our help now, then surely you must be willing to pledge yourself to Camelot!” the knight suddenly called from the back of the crowd. Morgana frowned. She glanced back at Arthur, unease on her face.

“My life is still my own,” she replied flatly. “And I am no servant.”

“Then you’re not one of us, and we have no reason to trust you.” Some of the knights voiced agreement. Morgana visibly tensed.

“Then _don’t,_ ” she retorted coldly. “But you will still come to me when the walls of Camelot are _crumbling_ because you were too proud to see the fire that made the smoke.”

A shocked silence followed. Arthur grimaced, and stepped forwards. “Enough. My trust in Morgana should be enough for all of you. She is not under obligation of life service. She has given her word to you here today; let no more be made of her past by any of you. Now, you may return to training!”

He spun on his heel and strode off, expecting Morgana to follow. Instead, Merlin appeared, carrying a saddle and a set of stirrups with difficulty.

“What was that about?” Merlin asked.

“Elyan is not happy with Morgana being here,” Arthur commented darkly. “He’s causing trouble, and I don’t like it.”

“You can’t blame them for not trusting Morgana.”

“I can blame them for not trusting _me_.” Arthur retorted. “I have made my decision, and it will stand.” Merlin remained silent, and promptly dropped a stirrup. He bent to retrieve it and dropped the other.

“Oops.” Arthur eyed him in exasperation.

“What would I do without your incredible talents, Merlin?”

Merlin muttered something inaudible under his breath as Arthur swept away. He marched down the hall as purposefully as he could manage, but paused when he heard the patter of rapid footsteps coming after him. He turned his head and was surprised to see Morgana, trying to hike her skirts out of her way as she caught him up. He slowed.

“Sorry,” she said baldly. He raised his eyebrows.

“What for? You did well. Most of them were convinced, and it would have been an ideal outcome were it not for Elyan stirring up trouble.” He let a small smile onto his face. “I forgot how well you could address a crowd.” One side of Morgana’s mouth lifted into a reluctant smile and she averted her gaze quickly.

“Well. I must get back to my cell.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps I forgot to bring the key with me.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“How careless of you.”

They met one another’s gaze, and for once did not look away in awkward annoyance. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Part X**

From then on, Arthur and Morgana settled into their uneasy truce. Arthur avoided going to see her without a reason, although some of the ones he came up with were dubious at best and as the first two weeks went by he was up there every other day. She was free to come and go in the castle now, but she tended to keep to herself in her rooms, leaving for walks alone if she ever went at all.

Arthur was mustering more troops, intensifying their training and recruiting new soldiers all the while. He was painfully aware, though, that the Wiersa must be out there too, possibly getting stronger. Morgana’s words kept floating through his mind.

He went up to her rooms late one evening intending to speak with her about soldiers defending against spells and barged through the door unannounced, too preoccupied with his own business to realise that he really shouldn’t be doing such a thing, and that a lady required a certain degree of privacy. He was soon made to regret his oversight.

Morgana was stood, arms folded, beside a tub of steaming hot water, dressed in only her nightgown which was neither substantial nor even particularly opaque. Her shoulders were bare, save for the dark hair loose down her back. The light from the torch lit her up from behind, which did not help the not-opaque situation. Arthur balked.

“Arthur?!” came her half-shocked, half-suspicious snap. She resisted the urge to lunge behind her screen for something else to put on, but instead shifted uncomfortably and kept her arms firmly crossed. She raised her chin defiantly. Arthur turned around hurriedly and felt his ears turn scarlet.

“Morg- er, sorry, I…” he stuttered. “I’ll come back later. Sorry. Enjoy your... sorry.” He cleared his throat several times and all but leapt from the room. He heard a snort of laughter just as the door shut behind him. He shut his eyes for a long moment and let his head fall back against the door, his breeches suddenly feeling the wrong size.

“Damn it.”

He stalked away, his blood heated, and forced himself back to his own chambers where he sat at his desk and seized a quill viciously. He started scribbling some officious-looking notes which would prove nothing more than nonsensical babble on closer inspection, but at least it gave his mind something else to concentrate on than either the embarrassing situation he had just created, or more worryingly, the sight of a half-dressed Morgana illuminated by sensuous firelight.

How inappropriate, and weird, and dangerous, and stupid, and really quite beautiful, and… no. _Bad. Very, very bad._ He cursed under his breath and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. He was still muttering to himself when the sound of Merlin’s voice made him stand up so suddenly his chair toppled over.

“Merlin!” he snapped, annoyed. Merlin looked bewildered.

“What? I was just asking where your dirty shirts were. Unless you don’t want them cleaned tomorrow, because that would be fine-“

Arthur sighed heavily. “No. Sorry, Merlin. I find myself somewhat out of sorts this morning.” Merlin looked concerned.

“Are you ill? Do you want me to fetch Gaius?”

“No, Merlin, that won’t be necessary.” Arthur cut in quickly. “I’m fine. Just… concerned. There’s a lot to think about in light of recent developments.”

“The Wiersa, you mean,” Merlin said with a sigh. “Yes, it’s a difficult time. How are preparations going?”

Arthur paused briefly then shrugged. “They’re as well as can be hoped for, but…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if… it will be enough. If those sorcerers are as powerful as Morgana says. Powerful enough to harm her so deeply…” He looked grave. Merlin nodded and looked uncomfortable.

“You… are you thinking of Morgana’s suggestion… that you need…”

“Sorcerers,” said Arthur with a heavy finality. “Sorcerers.” He looked up, and was surprised by the sudden intensity in Merlin’s familiar gaze. “I intended to speak with Morgana about it today,” he confessed. Merlin looked inexplicably hurt for a second.

“She is the best person to talk to, after all,” Arthur continued, wondering what to make of Merlin’s reaction. “I mean, who else in this castle knows of sorcerers,” he said with a snort.

“Mmm, no, absolutely,” said Merlin, busying himself with picking up the discarded shirt from yesterday Arthur had flung at a chair and missed.

“What, Merlin?” Arthur demanded. “You’ve got something on your mind, so say it.”

“No, I just- I don’t know that Morgana can be trusted, that’s all…”

“Oh, not this again, I thought we’d already agreed that she’s got no _reason_ to do anything against Camelot now,“  Arthur said irritably.

“No, not at the moment,” Merlin replied, twisting the shirt in his hands and lowering his gaze. “But who’s to say she won’t use us and then turn on us again?”

Arthur shook his head, looking frustrated. “Well, even if that’s the case, we have no alternative other than to seek help to deal with the immediate threat, which is the Wiersa. She’s the only ally we have who can use magic to help us. Who else is there? No other sorcerer will want to help Camelot, will they?”

Merlin did not reply for a long moment and opened his mouth.

Yet before he could say another word, the deafening, splintering sound of an explosion and shattering glass split the air. Arthur gasped and ducked for cover as thousands of vicious shards of glass swarmed towards him and Merlin. All the windows in the room had blown out without warning, some terrible force driving knife-like fragments towards them both.  Staggering on his knees, Arthur felt his face and shoulders sliced icily by passing debris.

“ _Arthur!”_ Merlin’s alarmed voice reached Arthur’s ears, but something else caught his attention. The shards and powdered glass swirled and hissed, and before Arthur’s very eyes they started to slide and click together until they took a visible shape. They stacked layer on layer until at last, they took up the shape of a huge, hulking knight with a horned helmet. Arthur dived for his sword and faced the creature, feeling a trickle of blood make its way down his cheek and neck. A dull thud sounded. Merlin lay on the ground, completely still.

“Merlin!” Arthur felt horror rise in him but he could not tend to his friend, instead staring up at the monster which had turned on him. The knight faced Arthur. Its eyes were empty, reflective sockets and the light glinted off every sharp angle on its shape.

The knight bellowed at Arthur and raised a vicious, many-pointed glass axe, swirling it towards him. Arthur met the blow with his sword and a shrill _chink_ sounded, but the glass did not even crack, let alone shatter. The glass knight started to bore down on Arthur, tireless and twice as strong as a normal man. Arthur felt himself conceding ground until suddenly he was right up against the empty window frame. The knight raised its axe, and Arthur stared, his heart in his mouth, sweat and blood streaked down his face.

“ _Acwele!”_ came a sudden, commanding shout above the sound of the knight’s bellows. Arthur watched as the creature suddenly started to lose its form, pieces of glass falling to the ground in a shower of noisy shards and dust. Arthur breathed heavily, staring in shock. He lifted his gaze slowly to seek out his rescuer, and there in the doorway stood Morgana.

Her face was just as shocked as his, her eyes wide and her already pale skin a shade whiter. She stared at Arthur. Her hair was wet and loosely plaited and she looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry. 

“Are you all right?” she said, hurrying across the room to him but stopping short at the mess of glass surrounding him, her feet protected only by delicate slippers. He gingerly stepped over it, hoping his own thick boots would suffice.

“I’m fine, but Merlin-“ he pointed at his prone friend and Morgana turned. She walked briskly towards him and immediately dropped to press her fingers to Merlin’s throat. Arthur stood anxiously behind her.

“He’s alive. Just unconscious…” She hovered her hand over Merlin’s head. “ _Ic ácwice þé_ ” she muttered. Merlin’s eyes flew open and he sat up so fast he nearly cracked his head against Morgana’s, a fate only avoided by Morgana swiftly jerking backwards and knocking into Arthur’s shins.

“What happened?” Merlin sputtered, then clutched his head. “ _Ow._ ”

Arthur looked relieved, and eyed Morgana with some admiration. She got to her feet and scrutinised Merlin with a considerable degree of haughtiness. Arthur was surprised by the coolness which radiated from her when she looked at his manservant.

“You should go to Gaius for that,” she said flatly. Merlin blinked, looking confused.

“Uh… yeah… OK,” he said, sounding befuddled. He caught sight of Arthur. “Arthur! Are you all right? You’re bleeding-“

“I’ll take care of it,” Morgana said shortly. “You should rest.”

Merlin stared at her for several long moments and Arthur felt the air become weighty with tension. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Go on, Merlin, I don’t want you collapsing again. You should see Gaius. I’ll be fine.”

Merlin finally nodded and started carefully towards the door, opening and closing it quietly as he left. Morgana then turned to Arthur, the coldness gone from her demeanour, and looked up at him with a frown. She scanned his face and took in the bloodied streaks.

“Come on,” she said “I’ve hot water in my room. And windows,” she added dryly, looking at the gaping holes in Arthur’s wall.

Arthur, too drained to muster more than a half smile, followed her to her chambers where he sat heavily in one of her fireside chairs.

“You’ve got your powers back,” he commented, his voice carefully controlled.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“It started returning not long after I got here. But only fully a few days ago.”

“Right.”

A pause elapsed as Morgana soaked a clean cloth in hot water.

“Do you trust me less now?” she asked levelly. Arthur stayed quiet for a moment.

“You saved my life. I can probably assume that means you don’t want me dead at the moment.”

Morgana smiled to herself. “I suppose you can.” She approached him and perched on the arm of the chair, gently pressing the cloth to Arthur’s face and wiping away the grime.

“What was that thing?” Arthur asked dully. Morgana shrugged.

“Magic, obviously.”

“Was it the Wiersa?”

“I’ve no idea. Could’ve been, though it was a bit more artful than what I’ve ever seen from them. They go much more for a _wham, bam,_ destroy the world kind of magic.” She said with a disdainful snort. She scrubbed a bit too hard and Arthur grimaced.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” She let her arm fall and tossed the bloodstained cloth into the bowl. “You were lucky; they’re not deep. They’ll heal on their own.” She said. Arthur looked up and studied her.

“Your hair’s wet,” he commented idly. Morgana rolled her eyes at him.

“Yes, you almost walked in on my bath, remember?” she said pointedly. Arthur coughed.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. Morgana shrugged.

“You enjoyed the view, no doubt. Men.” She said sarcastically, but unmaliciously. “What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait to knock?”

“Nothing… I just… I was going to talk to you about sorcerers… to join us.” He said slowly. She raised her eyebrows and said nothing. “I think it has been made clear that swords alone do not stop magic,” he said with a sigh. “I fear we will not win the war if I ignore this.”

She remained quiet.

"What if I were to send you to just... e _nquire_. That doesn't mean you can... can hire armies of sorcerers and start hurling fireballs with them outside the castle gates. Just find out if it's possible, and... report to me." Arthur watched her eyes flick between his, left to right, studying him for a long moment.

“I’ll go.” She said simply. Arthur looked troubled and she frowned, but he smiled and shook his head.

“Then let’s not speak of it any longer,” he shrugged. A look passed between them and they both seemed to understand that he did not wish to know more than he had to of the sorcerers.

“You’re a brave man, Arthur,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry if I haven’t given you credit for that in these past years.”

Arthur looked surprised, and reached out a hand to touch her arm gently. She flinched slightly and looked down at him, but did not dislodge his touch.

“I’m sorry for all that’s come between us,” he said heavily. A pause elapsed. “It’s always struck me as odd. You wanted the kingdom, and yet I would have given up my place on the throne for your sake.”

To his surprise, a flash of defiance crossed her face and she retracted her arm from his grasp.

“Oh, don’t pretend it was that simple, Arthur. I left because there was no way you would have chosen me over this purged Camelot. You, or your father.” He felt a stab of annoyance at her callous words but her look was blazing. “He was king, and he would have killed me where I stood had he known. And you would have had to give in. You always did want to be the hero, but even you wouldn’t have abandoned Camelot’s throne for me.”

“That’s hardly fair!” Arthur said hotly. “Did I not show to you that I would have done anything, _anything_ you asked of me? Every time you asked me to put my life and my duty to my father aside, didn’t I do it? Saving the Druid boy? And your maidservant? From the day you arrived here I did as you asked of me. How could you not trust me after all that? I have looked the other way with magic for you in the past for _strangers,_ so why did you not think I would do the same when it was _you?_ You were my sister. My best friend. My future _wife.”_ He all but spat out the last word, now on his feet and pacing restlessly.

She balked at that and he gave a dry, humourless laugh.

“Yes, did you know that? Did you know my father wanted me to marry you, that very year you left?”

She looked uneasy. “I knew it was on his mind.”

“And I would have, willingly!  Why wasn’t it enough for you to know that you had me?”

She stared at him, her pale eyes wide, surprised by his vehemence. In a moment she recovered herself and the flinty resolve he had become used to reset itself in her expression.

“That is exactly why I left. Can’t you see? I was too close to you, and your father. I spared you the agony of deciding what to do with me, a traitor by birth! How could you have married a sorcerer while you learnt to burn magic at the stake under your father? And how could I have married a man who did that? Even love doesn’t fix all that, Arthur! Because if it did I never would have left!” 

He stilled, and looked at her intently. “Did you love me?” She stared at him, her eyes wide momentarily before she abruptly broke eye contact.

“It’s neither here nor there.”

“I thought you did. Maybe just as a brother, or a friend, but I thought you of all people loved me for _me._ And then you left, and-“ he gave a short, humourless laugh “-and you tried, over and over again to kill not just my father, but me as well!” he seized her elbow and turned her to face him, and she did not resist, eyes flying up to meet his head on.

“And then one day, twenty assassination attempts in, you show up here, begging for my help, and I of course let you walk straight back into my life. You are like a _plague_ to me, Morgana. Whatever I do I can’t get you out of my head.”

She tugged her arm free and turned away from him so he couldn’t see the hurt in her eyes.

“Why do we keep having this same argument? You think you were wronged, I think I was right. No one ever has rational conversations this late at night, Arthur. It’s becoming emotional waffle, and it’s not relevant to why we’re even in the same room right now. I’ll see the Druids in the morning. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?” Her cutting words were deliberately harsh, but she couldn’t keep the tiredness from her face or from her tone.

Arthur sighed, accepting her dismissal, and rose from the chair, slowly walking towards her door. As he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“If I had a hand in creating a Camelot where you could not live,” he said slowly. “I failed you. And I’ll do all that I can to make it right. I don’t want things to go back to how they were before when all this is over.”

“Please, Arthur,” Morgana said, sounding defeated. “Don’t. I can’t think about that. I can’t make you promises of hope and love and friendship as if all the bad blood were just washed away. We have one enemy in common. That’s it. Nothing else has changed.”

PART XI

Morgana rode out to the forest of the Druids amidst stony glares from the knights at the castle walls, convinced they wouldn’t see her again until she came back after their blood. She ignored them. She felt relieved by the freedom of riding her horse in the open air, not escorted or watched as the castle disappeared behind her. She had avoided Arthur that morning, making sure she was out at the crack of dawn so he wouldn’t have a chance to catch her on the off chance he actually wanted to after their disastrous talk the previous night.

She didn’t know why, but she felt like she was growing more and more out of her own control every second she spent in the castle. It was confusing, psychologically, because she had become so used to living away from all the agonies of royal life. Yet here she was once again, dressed as Princess Morgana in a pretty green gown, riding a horse from the royal stables. She worried she was getting used to this world again, when the reality was she planned to leave it the moment the threat to her existence was eliminated.

She hoped this war would be brief, because the longer she spent in Camelot, the more confused her motives became. The less clear the vision laid out to her by her dead sister was. In the early days, when she got scared or doubted her vendetta against the Pendragons, she would speak to Morgause and the feelings were soothed away. Just after Morgause was killed, Morgana was full of so much anger she never felt doubt that what she was doing was wrong.

Now she was older, and calmer, and this truce with Arthur was playing havoc with her determination. She did not like to think of the effect it was having on her emotions as well, and told herself she still felt nothing. She had been used to numbness for years, her time since leaving Camelot spent in isolation when eventually the few allies she ever had either died or left her. Yet somehow the practised ease with which she had eliminated the normal human feelings she used to nurture was slipping away. She suspected, in her heart of hearts, that it was impossible to be near someone with so much feeling as Arthur Pendragon and not get any on you.

The forest soothed her troubled mind. She knew where the Druids were automatically, summoned by the pull of like meeting like, recognising her kin as clearly as daybreak. It was not far. They knew she was coming too, and when she reached their idyllic, hidden camp in the heart of the forestland, an oasis of calm right under the nose of Camelot, three leaders stood ready to greet her. Two, she knew. Ydres was the Elder Druid, a man whom some sorcerers suggested was losing his marbles slowly but surely. Morgana knew better that he was the shrewdest of the lot. Next to him was Eskellian, a dark-skinned man with beautiful blue markings across his brow. He was a former warrior with a fierce sense of justice and an even fiercer sense of pride. She had little chance of winning him over. The last was a small man Morgana did not recognise, and his face was a blank mask as he regarded her.

Where once she would have been received with warmth, she knew this time, the Druids were on high alert. She had caused trouble for them by antagonising Uther Pendragon, and they disagreed with her war on the young king. She had not been here for two years, and their last meeting had ended in stormy oaths of destruction on her part. She regretted her earlier fire against these peaceful people now that she knew better, but knew not how difficult it would be to regain their trust.

“Morgana.”

Morgana dismounted and shook her head tiredly.

“You don’t need to be so tense, Eskellian,” she said.

“You’ll forgive the less than warm welcome, after last time,” came the gravelly reply. She smiled bitterly.

“I have burnt my bridges, I know.”

“Why come, then?” Ydres’s voice was almost a lyrical sigh, and of the three he was the only one to smile at Morgana. She took that as a hopeful sign.

“Things have changed.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Ydres said lightly. “You look well. Better than when we saw you last, I should think. Less like a bat. It’s good.”

Morgana looked offended for a moment before she glanced down at herself irritably. “I’m… living in Camelot once more,” she confessed, and the three Druids looked startled.

“How can that be?” said Eskellian. “Surely the Pendragon boy would not welcome you there now.” 

“Arthur is a merciful man,” said Ydres. “Though he is no fool. What can have changed that means you no longer seeks his blood, Morgana?” he asked softly.

“We have a common enemy,” Morgana replied flatly. Ydres smiled kindly, but looked slightly disappointed. Eskellian rolled his eyes. 

“Ah, yes. Ever the survivalist. Though, I suppose at least you are not so lost in your hatred for Arthur that you can’t find it in yourself to take advantage of a decent man…”

Morgana bristled and felt the blossoming urge to strike, but she battered it down and ground her teeth, reminding herself that she was here to win over the Druids, not alienate them entirely. Ydres watched her intently, seeming to gauge her reaction, his head tilted slightly to one side as he took her in. She met his eyes briefly and was surprised by the warmth she found there.

“Peace, Eskellian,” he said softly. “Come, Morgana. Sit with us.”

She smiled a tentative, grateful smile at Ydres, following him further into the camp, while the other two leaders muttered and wandered off, accepting Ydres’s decision grudgingly. As she walked, she looked about her, entranced by the sheer peace of this community of sorcerers. Little children laughed as they ran about the trees and practised simple little spells that cast a shower of pretty sparks over each other, and their mothers watched indulgently as they prepared potions, poultices and garments by the fireside. Light-coloured tents were neatly arranged around the big roaring fire in the centre of the camp, and long lines of twine hung between them with good luck charms and ribbons tied at regular intervals. For a second, Morgana was lost in what she might have had.

“I had hoped I would one day be able to say you are welcome among us again,” Ydres said, watching her take in the beautiful camp. “I thought perhaps you were lost forever,” he said, and she snapped her gaze to him warily. “But now I see that you are not.”

“What do you mean?” she said faintly. “I… I have not abandoned my principles, Ydres, I am not a _Pendragon_ once more, and I am no Druid.”

“But you are changing,” he said. “I see it. Your magic has been broken and reformed,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. He turned it over, palm upwards, and his eyes glowed gold. In his own palm, a bronze ring spun gently and faded. In hers, a pure white ring briefly responded, ebbing and flowing round and round in her palm before it too diminished. “New magic,” Ydres said. “Like the children’s, it is unpolluted by hurt and anger,” he said, pointing at the cluster of little girls who giggled over the pure white explosions of sparks they produced from their tiny palms. Morgana stared, shocked, and clenched her fist.

“Nonsense,” she said, but lacking in conviction.

“Magic doesn’t lie,” Ydres chuckled. “You should welcome the change, Morgana. You are too stubborn to recognise it as such, but you are finding peace with your past. Whether or not you can ever live in true peace with Arthur, I cannot tell you, but it is my hope that one day you will at least be able to live in peace with yourself.”

“Can I ever come to this camp without you giving me nonsense riddles and mystical lessons, old man?” Morgana quipped, but without malice. Ydres smiled and led her to sit on a long old log serving as a bench.

“Why did you come?” he asked.

“I need help. Arthur needs help. There’s going to be a war, Ydres. It’s going to be soon. I can feel it. I dream it sometimes, and it doesn’t end well for anyone.”

“I see.”

“There’s a group of sorcerers on the fringes of the kingdom. They’ve been growing in size and strength and they’re coming for Camelot. They won’t stop until it’s burnt to the ground with everyone in it dead. I’ve seen what they’re capable of, and it will destroy us all if we don’t stop them.”

“So you wish the Druids to join a war? What is your motivation?” 

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t a danger to you as well,” Morgana retorted. “You are peaceful, but I warn you now, your peace will do nothing in the face of their war. And however powerful Arthur thinks he is he won’t win unless he has help.”

“I see.” Morgana waited, staring at Ydres for a long, long moment while the old man simply sat staring into middle distance, a very slight smile on his face. Morgana grew impatient and fidgety, wondering what she was supposed to do while the man apparently zoned out of the planet. She opened her mouth to prompt the man, and he suddenly spoke, causing her to almost jump off the log on which they were seated.

“I cannot give you the answer you are hoping for,” Ydres said calmly. “And indeed I never will. I’m afraid, Morgana, I shan’t be fighting this war with you.”

“What?” gasped Morgana. She had expected resistance from those who trusted her least. But Ydres, the most open-minded Seer in the Druids, she had hoped would at least consider the proposal.

“I shan’t fight the war with you because I am soon to die,” he said cheerfully, as if he had announced that he was planning a holiday.

“ _What?”_

Ydres simply smiled benignly. 


	6. Chapter 6

 “You’re going to die,” Morgana repeated flatly. “Are you insane?”

Ydres tutted and wagged a finger at Morgana. “Don’t be so rude.”

“Well, you’re not exactly giving me the picture of sanity right now! What do you mean you’re going to die?”

“Shame on you. I would’ve thought you of all people would appreciate the burden of knowing the future, hm?” said Ydres, still cheerful. “I have seen my death.”

“Well, do something about it! Who kills you?” Morgana sputtered, hardly able to believe she was asking something so ridiculous.

“There is nothing to be done. One cannot tug on the strings of fate without suffering the penalties, Morgana. You know that well,” replied Ydres softly. “But I’m afraid, Morgana, your news is not news to me. My people will not join your war before they have already suffered.”

Morgana stayed still, staring at him in shock. “You’re going to be killed by the Wiersa,” she deduced tonelessly. “Why can’t you tell your people that and get them to prepare _now?”_ she said fiercely.

“I cannot. It is destiny.”

“ _Why_ must the whole world be so set upon this traitor they call destiny?” Morgana barked.

“I know you are angry, Morgana,” sighed Ydres. “For you more than most have been hurt by fate. But I am sorry. I cannot be of more assistance to your cause.” He paused and delved into the pocket of his robe.

“But this… when the time comes, Morgana, this will be of use to you. Show it to no one until I am gone.” He handed her a tiny key with glowing blue markings like those painted on Eskellian’s brow.

“What is it?”

“It is a mark of my covenant with these people,” said Ydres. “In the hands of he who intends them ill, the key will turn to dust. In the hands of he who would protect them, it promises power in return. When I am gone, it will make its judgement on you as its new holder.” 

Morgana looked at it warily, wondering if it was going to crumble in front of their eyes immediately, but it remained quietly glowing in her palm.

“You have been hurt,” Ydres said. “Don’t let it be the reason you’re never happy again.”

Vivid memories flashed in her mind’s eye from almost five years ago. Staring up into Merlin’s tormented eyes as he stood over her, fighting for breath as she realised what he had done. In all the years that had passed since then, she had never been so betrayed. Not when she’d put at the point of death in the Lord Sarrum’s dungeon, or even when the Wiersa turned on her.

She swallowed. “I think it might be a little late for that,” she said jadedly.

“We have many potions, many spells here in our camp,” said Ydres steadily. “We have great healing power among us. Yet despite those things, in all my years, I have found there is no greater or more reliable healer than time _._ ”

“I don’t know what to do,” Morgana said after a pause. “I’ve… never been so lost. I thought I wouldn’t feel anything when I went back to Camelot and saw him again, but I do. I feel- I feel everything I never knew how to feel after I left, and it scares me.”

“What do you fear?” said Ydres simply. “Do you fear death?”

“I used to,” Morgana replied. “Now… I’ve lost so much. And my life is such a mess. It almost seems easier.”

“Do you think Arthur means you harm?”

“No,” said Morgana, surprised by the speed with which she replied. “I… was wrong. I thought he was Uther all over again, but he’s not…” she felt her eyes well unexpectedly with tears, and she marvelled at the alien sensation. She had not cried in four years. “But I can’t let him in,” she said. “I _can’t._ Every time I consider it something freezes over inside, and I chase him away.”

“What do you fear?” Ydres repeated levelly.

“Everything I have ever cared for has been destroyed,” Morgana finally said bitterly. “Everything. My father. My home _._ My friends. My sister. All of them were taken from me, and I cannot bear to love something else only to lose it.” She looked at Ydres and gave a short laugh. “And you, Ydres, let’s not forget _you!_ You are soon to leave me as well! Is everything I touch doomed to die?”

“In short, you fear being the cause of your own losses,” said Ydres quietly. “I agree you have endured more tragedy than seems fair. But if you seek sadness, you will find it. You cannot let your fear of being deeply hurt cause you to live in constant pain, milder though it might seem. You must live in defiance of tragedy. It is the only way. And if Arthur is the reason you have come to doubt your choice to close yourself off from all that is good, then you must not let him go.”

A sudden crash interrupted the weighty silence which had fallen between them, and Ydres stood up abruptly.

“Goodness. I had better see what that was,” he said mildly. “Morgana, my people _will_ join your fight, if it is a fight for peace. But not now. When the time comes, you will know.”

“Will I see you again?”

Ydres looked at her with a sad smile. “I’m afraid this is goodbye,” he said. “Morgana, I am glad to have seen the light in you one more time before I go,” he grasped her hands for a long moment.

Morgana smiled despite her sorrow as she watched him leave, before wordlessly turning and making her way back through the camp alone. She paused, briefly, watching a barefooted little girl lift her baby brother, and felt the strong ache of what might have been return. She looked away, and quickly set her eyes on the horizon as she mounted her horse and left the camp. Everything Ydres had said weighed heavily on her mind, but she felt a strange sense of catharsis at finally having expressed the agony she had been feeling over Arthur Pendragon since returning to Camelot.

PART XII

“There you are,” said Arthur said, raising an arm in greeting as Morgana trotted into the courtyard. He was alone, save for a groom whom he quickly sent off with his horse, and he approached her, squinting up at her in the bright sunlight. “Have you… that is, did you go to…”

“I went to the Druids, yes,” Morgana said, raising an eyebrow. “Saying the word won’t make you a sorcerer, Arthur, don’t worry,” she said, though her tone was humorous.

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered. He patted her horse’s neck. “So… what did they say?” he tried to hide his trepidation. Morgana frowned and shook her head.

“They were as cryptic as ever. I think… they will only help Camelot when its need is greatest,” she said heavily. “I don’t think we can factor them into our plans imminently.” Arthur sighed.

“Oh, well. I suppose at least I don’t have to worry about trying to convince my knights having dozens of sorcerers in Camelot is a good thing,” he said optimistically. He reached up to help Morgana down from her saddle, and grasped her forearms somewhat longer than necessary. She did not protest, however, and warily scanned his eyes, feeling her heart skip a beat she would never have confessed to.

“I think we should approach other kingdoms for alliances,” Morgana said to disguise the direction her thoughts were heading. Arthur finally let her arms go as a groom approached to take the horse, and he frowned thoughtfully.

“We already have reasonable relations with our neighbours…”

“Your neighbours are weak,” Morgana said bluntly. “I mean the powerful kingdoms. Cynric’s. Ceawlin’s. We need them.”

“That’s… easier said than done,” Arthur replied. “Cynric despises us and still claims part of the Taran lands, which we helped defend for King Oswald, and Ceawlin accepts sorcery so he…”

“…thinks you’re a murdering, barbarous savage,” finished Morgana dryly. Arthur glared at her.

“Something like that,” he admitted. He scratched his head. “I suppose I’d better set up diplomatic missions… perhaps Leon will be able to do something with Cynric. If the Wiersa have reached his lands he might not need convincing. Ceawlin, on the other hand… I don’t think that will be easy.”

“Try,” Morgana said simply, turning to walk towards the palace. Arthur ambled alongside her as they headed for the strategy room and scanned the tactical map of the kingdoms. Morgana studied the lands intently.

“These kingdoms,” she said, gesturing at three which shared borders with Camelot, “are small and weak.” She moved around the map. “The Wiersa have already overrun these kingdoms,” she said, pointing at the southern territories.

“So that just leaves Cynric, Ceawlin, Annis and Rodor. Annis will help you unquestioningly. Rodor… well, I suspect Mithian will speak favourably enough of you to persuade him-“

“How do you know about Mithian?” Arthur said, startled. He had not realised Morgana had been privy to his near-marriage to the Nemeth princess.

“Just because I lived in a hut in a forest for a while doesn’t mean I didn’t hear all the gossip about Arthur Pendragon’s sordid love life,” Morgana smirked. “I knew her when I was a child, you know. A sweet girl. You couldn’t do much better, actually, I don’t know why you didn’t go through with it while you had the chance.”

“Well, let’s just say someone else was occupying a few too many of my thoughts,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Morgana flushed in spite of herself, and she busied herself with the map again.

“Right, well. You should send Leon to Cynric. As for Ceawlin,” she pursed her lips. “I should go.”

“What? No. I’m not sending you into hostile territory-“

“Why? Because I’m a helpless girl?” Morgana said mockingly. “Save it, Arthur. You might have had protective big brother rights at one point, but we’re a bit past that nowadays, don’t you think? I’m the only one who has a hope of persuading a magic-friendly king to see past your _glaring flaws_.”

Arthur looked sullen. “You’re taking a guard,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

 Morgana rolled her eyes but did not protest.

“I’ll go first thing tomorrow,” she said. “So you’d better find someone who won’t try to kill me soon, or I’m leaving alone,” she said. Arthur glared at her.

“Fine,” he said, and he quickly crossed the room and opened the door. He stuck his head out of the room, looking left and right, and as if they had somehow planned it, Gwaine strolled round the corner humming to himself. He gave a start when he saw Arthur’s head sticking out of the doorway, and stopped, perplexed.

“Er… Your Majesty,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What… are you doing?”

“Just the man,” Arthur declared, seizing him by the elbow and hauling him into the room. Morgana stared at him in disbelief.

“Do you have a whistle, or something?” she said snippily. “They’re very well trained.”

“He uses a chamber pot and everything,” Arthur said, patting Gwaine’s shoulder heartily.

“Did you interrupt my well-earned break just to insult me?” Gwaine asked interestedly. “Because if I have to put up with that now, I might need a fair bit more coin to keep me a happy soldier...”

“No,” Arthur said. “You have an honourable mission,” he said pleasantly.

“Oh?” Gwaine asked, looking sceptical. “You’re not going to have me hunt the mysterious Beast of Camelot Forest again, are you? I searched for that thing for hours before Percival told me it wasn’t real,” he said pointedly to Arthur, who hid his smirk and avoided looking at Morgana, who stared at him with exasperation.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about. That creature was a real threat, it must have simply moved on,” Arthur said, clearing his throat. “ _Anyway_. I want you to accompany the Lady Morgana to Fereth tomorrow. Alliances must be formed,” he said.

“ _Ceawlin’s_ Fereth _?_ ” Gwaine repeated, evidently startled. “You do know that he wants you and everyone who knows you, well, you know-“ he made a cut-throat gesture.

“Hopefully Morgana’s attempts on my life will leave her in somewhat of a better bargaining position, then,” Arthur said drolly. Morgana shifted uncomfortably but eyed Gwaine defiantly. He shrugged good-naturedly.

“An adventure,” he said brightly. “I’ll arrange a guard.”

“Good man,” Arthur said, clapping his arm. “That’ll be all, you can get back to drinking and doing sod all again if you so wish.”

Gwaine looked mock offended, then shrugged. “Yeah, that sounds about right actually. See you tomorrow, my lady.” Gwaine whistled as he exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.

“I suppose I’d better tackle the mountain of paperwork on my desk,” Arthur said at last. Morgana nodded and smiled, hand clasped behind her back .She still felt uncomfortable holding his gaze too long, and avoided looking at him, so she was surprised when he suddenly appeared right in front of her. He looked at her with an intensity that made her want to look away, but she found she couldn’t.

“When you go tomorrow,” he said seriously. “Promise me you’ll take care, and you will come back to me.”

“Arthur, I-“

“Just promise. Please.”

“I… I promise,” she said unsteadily, thrown by the level of emotion he was doing nothing to hide. “I won’t do anything stupid,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. Suddenly he reached out and cupped her cheek, and the panic this induced left her finding it a little hard to breathe normally.

“Good,” Arthur said, smiling faintly. “Good”.

Then, abruptly, Arthur withdrew his hand, and without either of them saying anything else he quickly left the room. Morgana gathered her thoughts nervously, composing herself before she left the room as well, the heavy weight of something unsaid hanging over her as she tried to turn her thoughts to preparations for her journey.

PART XIII

Morgana slept fitfully in the night. Her dreams were turbulent. One minute they were filled with a bloody vision of destruction in Camelot, then the next they tormented her with a vision she had always tried to quash, of little blue-eyed boys and green-eyed girls running around the castle, each of them calling her _Mother_ and when she turned, she saw Arthur’s broad smile… it was always enough to wake her, bitterness replacing the wistfulness which the dream left behind.

She did not feel rested when finally the sun started to creep over the horizon and she felt justified in leaving her bed. It did not take her long to dress, though she dithered over whether to go for ‘regal princess’ or ‘warrior woman’ in her choice of attire.

In the end, she decided in the interests of diplomacy, she had better not arrive in Ceawlin’s lands dressed from head to toe in chainmail. She opted for the royal blue gown which had always somehow instilled confidence in her, and allowed her maidservant to properly dress her hair, which had become much tamer since her return to Camelot, and thankfully did not require vicious brushing any longer. 

Finally, Morgana adorned her hands and wrists in fine gold jewellery from her old jewellery boxes, still lodged in her dressing table drawers even after all this time. She passed over anything Uther had given her, resolving to give those pieces away as soon as she could. This meant, of course, that virtually everything she wore was a gift from Arthur, as few others had ever been close enough to her to give her jewels, except for the odd token from foreign kings. She hesitated over a particularly lovely gold bracelet Arthur had presented to her, rather bashfully, on her sixteenth birthday, before slipping it on.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” said her quiet maidservant, Erin. Morgana smiled awkwardly at her and folded her hands.

“Well, let’s just hope it pays off,” she remarked as lightly as she could before she nodded once and purposefully strode out of her room. She headed straight for the courtyard where a solid entourage of seven knights were gathered, some mounted and some stood beside their fine horses laden with goods for the journey.

“Good God!” Gwaine said, gawping openly at Morgana. She scowled at him suspiciously and tried not to look at Arthur, but when she stole a glance at him she could not help but feel gratified by his wide-eyed expression of admiration.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” he said, pulling himself together and glaring at the other grinning knight. He was holding the reins of a handsome white horse, and he led it over to Morgana.

“You look…” he seemed to struggle to find words, and shook his head slightly. “I can’t believe they’ll do anything but give you whatever you ask,” he finally finished, smiling somewhat bashfully. He moved forwards to help her into the saddle, carefully arranging her long travel cloak over the back of her horse for her. He moved back round to stand beside her when something caught his eye, and he reached up to take her wrist. She glanced down and her eyes fell on the bracelet, and she met his gaze. He touched the intricate metalwork briefly and smiled.

“The goldsmith said it would bring good luck,” he explained. “Rubbish, of course,” he said, pausing and tilting his head to one side. “As if you need good luck.”

Morgana laughed and searched his eyes for a long moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said sincerely. “Be good.”

“Always.”

She shot him a last smile before she nudged her horse into a trot and led the group in the first steps of their journey to Ceawlin’s kingdom of Fereth.


	7. Chapter 7

Part XIV

The way to Fereth was a one long, taking them through forests and across wide plains. Morgana had never made the journey before, so Gwaine took the lead. She suspected Arthur had chosen only the knights who were most friendly to her, as not one of them seemed the least bit hostile. On the contrary, all seven spoke respectfully to her – except, of course, for Gwaine, who was as wonderfully rude as she expected him to be. They went peacefully enough, stopped by no one except a bad-tempered farmer who accused them of trampling his crops, but was silenced by a small amount of silver.

“We’re almost there,” Gwaine said over his shoulder. They were in a rocky outcrop leading up a long slope, but in the distance Morgana could see the faint outline of a walled city. The horses grew uneasy, however, as the loose stones shifted under their hooves. One of the knights’ horses slipped and gave a whinny of fright which sent Morgana’s into a nervous jolt which nearly unseated her.

Suddenly, there was more than just loose stones clattering down the hill. Morgana gave a shout of alarm as suddenly sharp little stones began to fly at her and the knights, who were having great difficulty keeping their horses under control in the onslaught.

Morgana shielded her face with her arm and tried to make out their attackers, fearing it might be the Wiersa catching up with them already. But she spotted the bright black and blue livery of Ceawlin’s kingdom and realised the group of soldiers were just royal cavalry, and felt some relief. Men, she could handle. She narrowed her eyes as they blazed gold, and suddenly the stones under their attackers’ horses started to shift and shake, distracting them from their task of embedding rocks in the knights’ horses and sending some of them sprawling from the saddle. They scrambled for their swords, so she pressed on.

“Stop,” she said loudly, urging her horse up the hill so she could confront the men head on. The men on the ground seemed startled to see her, gawping up at her, while the two soldiers who remained in the saddle looked at her with suspicion. “What fools are you to attack before you know your target?” she said coolly. “I am the Lady Morgana, ambassador of Camelot. I have come for an audience with King Ceawlin.”

“I apologise, my lady,” said one of the mounted soldiers, who looked to be the leader, narrowing his small eyes. “But we do not usually admit the colours of Camelot in this land. But your reputation precedes you. If _you_ are here representing Camelot, I am sure my liege will be eager to hear what you have to say,” he said silkily. “Ornlu, ride ahead and inform our king that we have the Lady Morgana representing Camelot in our company,” Morgana looked at him disdainfully, and urged her horse forwards, the knights following behind her. She glanced back at them. Their horses’ chests were flecked with blood and one of the knights had a cut under his eye, but none was in danger.

“Allow us to escort you, my lady,” said Ceawlin’s commander, smiling nastily. His men slotted in between the knights, separating them, and Ceawlin rode uncomfortably close to Morgana’s shoulder. She ignored him icily, and focused on the city ahead.

They entered the city of Fereth slowly, and it was a strange place. Everywhere she looked Morgana saw hallmarks of a magical city. There were stalls openly selling talismans and charms, and some of the roots and powders in the herbalist’s stall could only be magical ingredients. One small thatched hut advertised a magical healing service inside. No one batted an eyelid as they passed. She could not help feeling an appreciation for this hybrid kingdom, which apparently had achieved what Camelot could not.

They trotted to the castle, where the great iron gate was slowly elevated for them, and once inside Morgana and the knights allowed their horses to be led away while the small-eyed commander, still smirking unpleasantly, led them through the great doorway of the castle.

“His Highness King Ceawlin awaits you, my lady,” he said, gesturing at what had to be the throne room. Morgana shot him a disdainful glance, and head high, she walked through the door which two guards held open for her.

Inside was an enormous, long, grand throne room which certainly rivalled Arthur’s. The high ceiling was full of beautiful carved symbols and figures, and six magnificent enchanted chandeliers lit the room warmly. There were ornate tables at the edges of the room, each set with baskets piled high with lush fruits and breads. At the end of the room was a spectacular throne with wide gold-studded arms and twin wolves carved into the ends.

In the throne was seated a man to make Percival seem small.

King Ceawlin was a huge great figure of a man, his limbs seeming to Morgana like small tree trunks. He was of the same age as Uther, his battle-scarred face now grey and grizzled. He looked fierce, extremely blue eyes peering out from under his thick eyebrows. A rich gold crown encircled his head, studded with a large blue jewel.

“Well, well,” he said in a growling voice. “The Lady Morgana. I haven’t seen you since you were but a slip of a girl,” he said, focusing on her intently. “You have grown very beautiful.”

Morgana paused some distance away from Ceawlin’s throne and curtsied slowly.

“Your Highness,” she said steadily. “I am honoured to be in your presence once more.”

Ceawlin let out a rumble of a laugh. “Well, I must say, I am curious to know _why_ you are in my presence once more. I thought Uther made it quite clear to me before he died that our kingdoms were to travel quite separate paths.”

Morgana’s eyes darkened. “I’m sure my views on Uther’s rule have not gone unnoticed by you, Your Highness,” she said. Ceawlin smiled slightly.

“Yes, the mystery deepens. Why are you representing a House you are famed for despising? Surely the boy-king hasn’t abandoned his father’s legacy?”

Morgana paused. “I believe Arthur Pendragon to be a better man than his father,” she said cautiously. “But no. He has not.”

“Then you are no friend to Fereth. We live in harmony between magical and non-magical. I have found it much to my benefit to retain sorcerers in my employ. Why should you endanger your life by representing a kingdom with such a disgusting reputation for bloodshed?” Ceawlin said bluntly.

“Because every kingdom is in danger from a greater threat,” Morgana said, her pulse quickening at Ceawlin’s harsh words. “I returned to Camelot out of dire need.”

“What threat is this?”

“A group of dark sorcerers has risen and is conquering all the southern lands as we speak. They call themselves the Wiersa.”

“Well, then,” Ceawlin said, scratching his stubbly chin. “Well. Perhaps it will be justice to see Camelot fall to sorcerers!”

“They won’t stop at Camelot,” Morgana said darkly. “I have seen them. I travelled with them a while. I thought I could use them, and control them. But I could not. They destroy all that lies in their path, and they won’t spare you because you have magic here,”

“Bold words,” Ceawlin said, seemingly unaffected. “Why should I believe you aren’t just trying to save Camelot at the expense of my men?”

Morgana pursed her lips. “I give you my word. But if you don’t believe me, it’ll be obvious to you soon enough. Only then it might be too late.”

Ceawlin studied her up and down, and she did her best not to recoil from his blatant stare.

“So it is an alliance you seek?”

“Yes.”

A long pause elapsed, Ceawlin evidently thinking.

“I will consider what you have said,” he said at last. “In the meantime, please enjoy my hospitality,” he said. “Perhaps view the city. I think it might be to your liking,” he said. Morgana dipped her head and curtsied.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, and she retreated from the room. Outside, Gwaine was waiting anxiously. He had not been allowed in, and was looking tense and irritable.

“There you are,” he said, brightening slightly when he saw her. “This place gives me the creeps,” he said, glancing at one of the guards who was staring sourly at him without blinking even once. “What di he say?”

“He’s thinking about it,” Morgana said. “He said we could visit the city.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Gwaine said nervously. “I saw someone turning a dead pig inside out on the way here.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Morgana said, rolling her eyes. She seized his elbow and marched him out the way they came and breathed deeply when they reached the open air.

“I like it here,” she said, enjoying the scent of fresh air mixed with some distantly-bubbling herbal remedy.

“I thought you might,” Gwaine muttered. “I’m starving, can we get food here? Is it illegal if I eat magic food? Don’t tell Arthur,” he mused.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Food is food,” she said, glaring at him. Exploring the city, thoughts of Ceawlin actually faded from her mind, and she found herself engrossed in the vibrant lifestyle of Fereth. She never noticed the grizzled king watching her from a high window in his castle.

Part XV

Some hours later, Morgana found herself once again waiting for the guards to open the doors to the throne room. She had enjoyed her time with Gwaine in the city, but a bubbling pit of nervousness had settled in her stomach as she made the long walk to Ceawlin’s throne once more.

“Your Highness,” she said, curtseying. He nodded in acknowledgement.

“I have considered what you have told me, Morgana. And I have come to a proposal that I think will suit us all.”

Morgana waited anxiously.

“I will ally with Camelot against this enemy of which you speak,” he said. Morgana’s hopes soared.

“To symbolise this alliance, I require an oath in return from a daughter of Camelot,” he said cryptically. He gestured to one side. A guard opened a door, and a young man stepped out. He was tall and slender, his dark hair smoothed to one side. A silver circlet rested on his forehead.

“My son, Prince Samer.” The young man bowed to Morgana. Suddenly, she felt an unwinding dread at where this was going.

“I will ally with Camelot in return for your betrothal to my son,” he said. “A better match for him I could not hope to find elsewhere.”

Morgana opened her mouth wordlessly. She shook her head slightly.

“I.. I am not a daughter of Camelot,” she struggled to form coherent words. “I’m not a princess.”

“You are of noble birth. You are a High Priestess of the Old Ways,” Ceawlin reasoned. “You are magical. You are powerful. You would do this kingdom a great honour by passing on those powers to its future kings.”

Morgana glanced at Samer, who had not said a word. She tried to read his expression, find something in it that would get her out of this, but she found nothing but blankness. She closed her eyes.

“I…” she broke off. “I must take this proposal to King Arthur,” she said, her tone gaining defiance as she forcefully recomposed herself. 

“Why?” Ceawlin said, sounding surprised. “These terms are but a trifle of what they might have been. I could have demanded every coin in the land with King Arthur’s face on it, along with years of tribute. But all I ask is one woman’s hand! You are not his sister, or his daughter. Your marriage won’t gain him anything elsewhere. I fail to see how any king wouldn’t jump at such terms. As far as I can see, this decision is yours alone,”

Morgana gritted her teeth. Ceawlin had her back against the wall. She shook her head shortly. “I accept your terms,” she said coldly.

Ceawlin smiled broadly. “A wise decision.”

Part XVI

She refused to tell Gwaine a thing while the other knights were gathered. She merely told them she had secured the alliance, and kept silent after that. He knew something was wrong, though, and he cornered her as they were about to mount their horses to leave the next morning.

“What happened in there?” he demanded. “I know he didn’t just turn around and say “oh yes, I’d love to kiss King Arthur’s backside”, so what _did_ he do? Do we really have an alliance?”

“We have an alliance,” Morgana confirmed heavily. “A conditional one.”

“Conditional on _what_?”

She looked over at him gloomily, then placed her foot in the stirrup.

“My marriage,” she said at last, and before he could say anything else she kicked her horse on, not bothering to wait for the others before she hastened out of Fereth.

Gwaine caught her up a few minutes later though, and his face was one of goggling horror.

“ _To Ceawlin?”_ he all but shouted. “That disgusting, slimy, creepy bastard, he’s old enough to be your father-“

“No, not Ceawlin,” Morgana cut him off irritably. “His son. Samer.”

“Oh.” Gwaine shut up for a moment. “That’s- what are you going to do?”

Morgana looked unhappy. “What can I do? I have to marry him.”

“But you can’t!” Gwaine said, horrified. “What about…”

“What about _what?_ ” Morgana snapped.

“Not what _, who,_ and you know exactly who.”

“I’m doing this for him,” Morgana said, giving up the pretence. “Arthur will have to cope with it. It’s for his own god-damned kingdom, and if he weren’t such a fool as to allow this rift with Ceawlin to go on so long, I wouldn’t have to do it,” she snarled.

Gwaine’s eyebrows knotted together, and he looked down at his reins. He shook his head. “It’s not right,” he said sadly, and Morgana felt a stab of irritation.

“When has anything in my life been _right?_ ” she said. To this, Gwaine had no reply, and they carried on in silence. They spoke few words as the journey stretched out, and before long Gwaine dropped back to talk to the other knights, leaving Morgana to her thoughts and silence.

At Camelot, she felt exhausted. She kept her mask of impassivity in place as the stable hands took her horse and helped her from the saddle, but the moment she dreaded was fast approaching.

Arthur came hurrying down the steps moments after her feet hit the ground, his quizzical face soon inches from hers.

“What happened?” he demanded, forcing her to lock eyes with him. She forced herself to smile.

“I did what I said,” she said strongly. “I got the alliance.”

Delight filled Arthur’s face. “You did? God- you must have been fantastic- I mean, not that it’s a surprise. Of course you won, you always get what you want!” he looked jubilant, and turned around triumphantly to Merlin who was standing awkwardly to one side. Morgana caught his eye briefly, and felt unsettled at the searching look the boy gave her. She never liked how perceptive he could be.

She could feel Gwaine’s eyes on her as she tried to skirt around Arthur, but she ignored him. Arthur, however, spotted her and caught her arm.

“Hang on! Where are you going? We should be celebrating, this is a huge win for Camelot-“ he broke off, catching the look on her face before she could school it into one of excitement. “What happened?” he asked, suddenly growing grave. “There’s a catch, isn’t there? What did he demand?”

Morgana shook her head and smiled an unhappy smile. “Something he couldn’t see as being valuable to you at all,” she said softly. “He thought he was offering you quite the deal.”

“Morgana. Tell me.”

She forced herself to look him in the eyes. “He wants me.”

It took a few moments for the meaning of this to sink in. The colour drained from Arthur’s face and she could almost feel the fury rising in him.

“No.”

“Arthur, there’s-“

“I said _no!”_ Arthur shouted. “I am king, and I forbid these terms!”

Morgana felt her own anger rise at his childish words, but wishing to avoid a public spectacle she marched into the castle, heading for the throne room. Arthur followed hot on her heels.

“Morgana, you can’t be _serious_ , I will _not_ send you to be married to that, _that_...”

“It’s his son, Samer. He’s my age. He’s not awful. Neither is Ceawlin, for that matter. I would fit in in Fereth, don’t you think? Magical kingdom. Magical queen.” she said, wondering how obvious it was she was only trying to convince herself.

 _“DON’T_.” Arthur suddenly shouted, cutting her off. “ _Don’t_ you try and justify this, don’t try and make it seem reasonable and fair that I should send you off and lose you _again!”_

She stayed quiet. “It’s not about you. It’s about everyone. It’s about saving everyone’s lives. There’s no other way. You have nothing else Ceawlin wants. He’s rich, he’s powerful. The only thing he wants that you have is my power in his bloodline.”

 “I won’t.” Arthur said in a low voice. “I will not give you up to him, Morgana.

“It’s not your decision, it’s mine-”

“I can’t watch you marry some foreign prince you don’t know,” he said flatly, grasping her forearms and shaking her slightly. She glared at him mutinously. “And that’s the end of it.” 

“I told him yes,” she said angrily. “I’m not your sister. I’m not your daughter,” she snapped, echoing Ceawlin’s own words. “You don’t get to control me. Just a few weeks ago we were sworn enemies! You should be grateful I’m offering to do this for _your_ stupid kingdom! After all, it’s your own fault Ceawlin thinks so lowly of you!”

“ _WHY WOULD I BE GRATEFUL THAT THE WOMAN I LOVE HAS AGREED TO MARRY SOMEONE ELSE?”_ Arthur said so furiously and suddenly that they both flinched. He stared at her, breathing heavily, and she felt her blood turn cold as his words sank in.

“You don’t love me,” she said uncertainly. “You… you can’t.”

“Of course I love you,” he said, quick bluster covering his vulnerability. “I’ve loved you since we were children, we were raised as brother and sister-”

“No,” she said. “That’s not what you meant. That’s not what _the woman I love_ means, Arthur. It means you don’t want me to marry him because you want us to-“ she broke off, unable to put in words the ramifications of his declaration.

“And what if I do?” Arthur said quietly, giving up all pretence. He raised his hand to grasp her cheek, his thumb resting on the angular bone, and she did not shy away. He shut his eyes. “I will not lose you this way. Not after everything.” He opened his eyes. She stared back, her heart racing. He raised his other hand so he cradled her face between his palms, and, searching her eyes, he leaned in.

There was a fleeting moment where Morgana thought about stopping it, but then their lips made contact and she forgot why they should stop. It started off slow, tentative even, just a bare contact between them that left her confused, but wanting. Arthur opened his eyes, gauging her response, still holding her face gently. Morgana paused, lips parted, and then she grasped at his shirt front and pulled him back down to her.

She kissed him fiercely, years of pent up frustration, regret, longing and desire blazing through her. He pressed hard against her so she started to take steps back until she was flat against the wall, and she let out a little breath of surprise. Arthur, however, merely leaned into her even further, so every line of his body matched up to hers. His hands had left her face and were now roaming, cautiously at first, then growing bolder, sliding from her shoulders to gently grasp her waist, then smoothing lower over the small of her back and then down further, his gentle touch circling, teasingly, stoking her so she felt like she might catch fire.

She felt like a young girl again, embarrassed and excited and eager and hungry. The way Arthur’s hands moved, expertly stroking each part of her over her gown, suggested he wasn’t exactly a novice at this, but there was something in the urgency of his movements and the way he took in a sharp intake of breath when her hands roamed under his shirt that said this intensity was new to him as well. She bit down on his lip and he groaned, and with one arm wrapped around her waist he dragged the other up her side until his fingers skirted the edge of her breast. Dimly she felt frustration when he went no further and pulled back, and it took her a few moments to open her eyes and focus on his face. His eyes bored into hers, questioning, and she quickly realised he was waiting for her permission. She smiled and slid her arm around his neck, pulling him back to her.

He kissed back eagerly and his hand gently flickered over her breast, slightly hesitant, but she flicked her tongue against his and he caressed her in earnest, eliciting a groan which was muffled around their kisses.

In truth, Morgana didn’t know what exactly would have happened if they had been left undisturbed. There was no part of her which considered stopping, and it seemed quite likely that the very throne in which Uther Pendragon used to seat his royal posterior would have been thoroughly defiled. Yet as it was, the door suddenly swung open with a bang. Arthur leapt away from Morgana instantly, but there was no way whoever it was failed to catch an eyeful of who was kissing whom pressed up against the wall.

“Gwaine,” Arthur said hoarsely. Morgana tried to steady herself, part of her relieved it was only Gwaine, and part of her horrified that it should be anyone at all. She swallowed hard, knowing her hair was in disarray, and her lips and cheeks were flushed, just as Arthur’s were.

Under other circumstances, Morgana might have laughed out loud at the expression on Gwaine’s face. He looked thunderstruck, his mouth hanging open and his arm frozen in a strange position, half raised and awkward-looking.

“What in God’s name-“ he sputtered. “I mean, not that I didn’t _suspect,_ but by _God,_ I didn’t expect to walk in here and see-“

“Gwaine,” Arthur said urgently. “You saw nothing.”

Gwaine shook his head. “Now that is _no way_ to talk about Morgana’s kisses, Arthur, because- phew-“ he fanned himself with his hand. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

“Gwaine,” Arthur said for the third time, this time more annoyed. “You can’t say a word. You didn’t- we aren’t-”

“Don’t give me that,” Gwaine said, suddenly growing serious. “I know what you two are. I know there are plenty of people who’d say it’s ridiculous, stupid, dangerous, ridiculous, doomed, a complete and utter-“

“Get to the point,” Morgana said sharply.

“- _miracle,_ ” Gwaine said quickly. “But I _knew._ I told you, Morgana. I knew you couldn’t go through with this sham marriage, now when you two love each other-“

Morgana and Arthur drowned each other out in their attempts to contradict him, but he just kept looking at them with a knowing look on his face.

“Leave us, Gwaine,” Arthur said, half-pleadingly. Gwaine held his hands up and backed out of the room, shutting the door carefully. Arthur sat heavily in his throne and grasped his head between his hands.

“Morgana,” he said, sounding agonised. She looked at him with trepidation, wondering whether he was about to tell her this was a sorry mistake. But when he looked up at her he held his hand out to her, and she took it nervously. He pulled her towards him and tugged until she complied, sitting in his lap cautiously. He took no notice of her stiffness and encircled her, breathing in her hair. She felt the absolute strangeness of the situation hit her hard, but she also felt a warm longing in her chest at the feel of him holding her. She pressed her forehead against the side of his head and shut her eyes.

What a difference mere minutes made in a lifetime.

“I tried so hard to feel nothing for you,” she whispered. “But I don’t. I’ve never felt as much for anyone as I do for you, and it scares me.”

He turned his head to look at her, studying the smooth lines of her face.

“You can’t love anything without being afraid of losing it,” he told her. “I’m afraid too.”

“I do love you,” she whispered, admitting it for the first time to him and to herself. “I do.”

“Then that’s the end of this business with Ceawlin,” Arthur said, his tone demanding. “We’ll find another way.”

Morgana looked up at him and smiled wanly. She nodded.

Arthur kissed her.


End file.
